Dumb & Jocked

Just want to be as the title reads

Last update
2021-06-12 16:36:05

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    Like Father, Like Son

    “Are you Zach Basten?”

    When the deep, gruff voice called out to me, I jumped back a little bit, startled. I hadn’t expected to see a policeman leaning on the stone wall near my house. He was obviously a superior male: his masculine body, alpha tone, menacing stare. The uniform fit him perfectly, showing off his powerful body. I could see the definition in his arms, chest, and, best of all, his pouch. The aura around him was enough to make my entire body weak. Well, almost my entire body. My dick was rock hard.

    “So, it’s true,” I heard him mumble, “a faggot.” My eyes grew wide with horror at this.

    “What did you just call me?” I said, confusion in my voice. I was a scrawny lad, definitely below six foot, unlike the man in front of me. I had been a little late to puberty, but at 17 I was starting to think that maybe I had missed puberty.

    “A faggot,” he repeated again, this time louder, “a queer, a fairy: whatever you gays say.”

    “We don’t say that!” I retorted, getting closer to a yell, “What do you want from me anyway?”

    “First off, your respect!” The officer furrowed his brow as his tone became more threatening, “I’m here on reports of rude and disruptive behavior.”

    “Whatever?” I rolled my eyes. I hadn’t done anything wrong, I’d always been a pretty good rule follower. I tried to walk past him, but he grabbed my arm. His grip was strong, and, to make matters worse, so was my erection.

    “Let me go!” I yelled, trying to tug my arm away.

    “Not so fast, son!” He shouted, grabbing a pair of handcuffs from his back. I hated that nickname.

    “You can’t do this!” I said, getting a little nervous.

    “I can do whatever I want!” He bellowed before cuffing me and throwing me in his car on the side of the street. I landed on my back hard, groaning as he slammed the door behind me. He walked to the otherside of the car and got in the driver’s seat. He grabbed a small radio and hit the on button.

    “This is Officer Matt Hoffman reporting in,” he began, “I have the suspect in custody, bringing him in now.” Before any sort of response could come back, he turned off the radio and put it away. He turned the keys and the car fired up, roaring loudly before settling down. We drove off, driving to the station. I lived on the other side of the city, so it was going to be a slow, long ride.

    We both sat there awkwardly, neither making a sound as they drove along. I noticed that they were mainly taking backroads, but I was too busy freaking out over the fact that I was in a police car to worry about it. Probably bad traffic or something. As I sat there, I noticed that the car was rather hot; it felt as if I was in the middle of the Sahara. Looking through the window at the front of the car, I noticed the officer was also hot, as large sweat stains were appearing through his clothes.

    “A.C.’s broke,” Officer Hoffman said, answering my questioning eyes.

    As I continued to look around, I realized there was a small compartment below my feet. I moved my feet around and, after a bit of struggling, managed to open the compartment. Inside lay a pair of old, worn-out police boots. They were quite massive, so big that I was able to place my Size 8 feet inside with my shoes still on. They used to be black, but they were dulled into a dark gray from overuse. The only thing special about them blue patches woven on the top of the tongues. I’d never been a feet kind of guy, but I was a little curious. I looked at the policeman and, making sure he wasn’t looking, bent down to look at the shoes. I brought my head real close to one of the boots, trying to read the information inside the shoe. The wording was faded, so I had to concentrate really hard. With my focus going completely to the data, I didn’t notice that I was breathing right from the shoes. I shot my head back up, the putrid musk going right to my head. The sultry atmosphere gave the boots a steamy odor, which made me a little nauseous.

    “You love the smell of my boots?”

    “No, they were disgusting.”

    “You love the smell of my boots?” He asked again, this time a little more deliberately. I didn’t understand why he was asking, but I had no intention to reason with him.

    “They don’t ap-”

    “You love the smell of my boots.” This time it wasn’t a question; he had stated it firmly.

    “I love the smell of your boots,” I responded genuinely. I’d always had a thing for feet, so seeing these reeking monsters in front of me was getting me excited. I bent down and took another deep breath, creating a deep fog within my mind. I heard the officer release a deep chuckle before he proceeded.

    “You love my smell, so you love me?”

    “That’s not wha-” I hated this guy, he was insane.

    “You love my smell, so you love me.”

    “I love your smell, so I love you.” His boots were so incredible sexy, and so was he. I may have barely recognized it before, but now I realizes that he was the perfect male. His powerful pouch, strong cleft chin, masculine demeanor: it was all anyone could have wanted. The scent coming from his boots was immaculate, so he was immaculate. It was like a drug, but it wasn’t illegal to huff it. I bent down and took a heavy breath before sitting back up. My eyes were watering. The silver fox in front spoke again. I gave him my full attention.

    “Do you trust me?” Officer Hoffman interrogated, smirking.

    “What.” I retorted, still a little dizzy.

    “You trust me?” He asked again, but this time more seriously.

    “I don’t ge-“

    “You don’t ask any questions about what I ask,” he sneered commandingly.

    “What are yo-”

    “You don’t ask any questions about what I ask.”

    “I don’t ask any questions about what you ask.” The words fell out of my mouth.

    “You don’t ask any questions about what I ask,” he repeated one more time.

    “I don’t ask any questions about what you ask,” I replied honestly. He was an officer, so he was definitely worthy of my trust. What did I have to fear? He had my best intentions in mind. Officer Hoffman chuckled once again from the front seat before continuing.

    “You work out a lot?”

    “No,” I replied, never having once gone to a gym.

    “You work out a lot,” he stated.

    “I work out a lot.” The words became reality, causing my body to mold. First, my back pushed up as my legs began to stretch out, bringing me to a height of 6’1. My calves and quads inflated, muscles forming along the insides of my skin. Thick bones and powerful thighs appeared while my legs became meatier. Dark hairs spread all around, the amount of testerone showing off proudly. Memories of many leg days filled my head as trainings for multiple different sports followed.

    Next were my arms, which filled in faster than my legs had. My shoulders widened as they now accommodated the years of doing lifts and weights. Triceps and biceps expanded as my hands became fat and meaty. My fingers grew longer as my upper arms bloated to the size of softballs. Years of tossing balls and gripping gym equipment flooded my brain as hairs also poured across my arms. My pits also filled with dark hairs, creating a vomit-worthy scent of their own.

    My chest was immediately after. Hard pecs replaced the small moobs I had grown over the years, lifting me just barely higher to 6’2. I moaned as my abdominals popped in, each one felt like something being pulled out of my stomach. Body fat began to disappear as a soild V took form at my lower chest. Visions of games on countless fields, hours in the gym, and plenty of time working out began to show as my back straightened out, causing my spine to twitch violently. While my newly formed six pack solidified, a thin rug appeared on my torso.

    Following was my neck and face. Thanks to the rear view mirror, I got to see most of this happen. My neck thickened as an Adam’s apple shoved forward, causing me to cough down a few octaves. I grunted in a low bass as my jaw began to crack, shifting into a mor squarish shape. My nose and lips shrunk as my head grew bigger, trying to support the new vast amount of sports knowledge. My hair shortened and darkened, losing its natural blond and stopping at a solid brown. A trendier haircut replaced my man-bun while my blue eyes shifted to a lighter brown. The beginnings of a stubble were the last things I noticed.

    Succeeding the top of my body was the bottom: my feet. They began to feel cramped within my designer shoes. As I watched, I saw my toes began to poke out as small hairs began to adorn the top of my growing feet. What I hadn’t noticed is that my closed had changed with the new reality, changing my sweatshirt and ripped jeans into a tank with some old basketball shorts. My shoes were also changing, becoming a used of Nikes. Images of running countless miles returned to my memories as my feet finished bloating. I could just barely see the number 12 on the insole before a rank smell emitted from the shoes, causing my eyes to water again.

    Just when I thought it was over, my pouch exploded in pain. My dick began to grow larger as my balls expanded. I wasn’t that gifted before, but now, looking at the outline on my pant leg, I was at least 7 inches hard. I also felt my butt lift up from the seat, many months of squats had given me the perfect rear. Thoughts of empty nights had been replaced with countless conquests around the high school. I could now remember how many twinks and jocks I had slain with this decent cock. A cockier, more confident persona appeared as the new reality was completed.

    “Looking good,” Officer Hoffman said, bringing me back to the present. I had completely forgotten that I, a professional bodybuilder at the age of 17, was in a police car. If this got out, it could ruin my reputation. Before I could fret more on the subject, the policeman started the conversation back up.

    “So, you’re not in high school?” He asked.

    “No, I am.”

    “You’re not in high school.”

    “I’m not in high school.”

    “You finished the police academy?”

    “I mean-”

    “You finished the police academy.”

    “I finished the police academy.”

    “If that’s true, than you must around 30 years old. You’re 31 years old?”

    “No, I’m actual-”

    “You’re 31 years old.”

    “I’m 31 years old.” I was surprised the officer had known this much about me. He really must have done his research before he had arrested me.

    Then again, we had been partners for almost five years now. He had taken me under his wing as soon as I was deployed at the station. He had helped bring me fup from the rookie status very quickly. Memories of working together with Matt flooded my head as I sat there patiently.

    While my mind adapted to Matt’s commands, my body shifted as well. The hair across my body thickened as the hair on my head thinned a bit. My hairline pushed back barely as my body became firmer. Small sprinkles of wrinkled appeared all over while my knowledge became a little wiser. My muscles sucked in a little tighter, more time spent at the gym having solidified my athletic look. My vocal chords stretched, not becoming deeper, but just slightly gruffer.My feet became a little bigger as my cock became just barely longer, now having fully harvested the testerone of manhood. I spread my legs out a little wider to accommodate the new growth before bending over to get a fresh sniff.

    “Matt, why am I sitting back here?” I asked, confused as to why I was handcuffed in the backseat. I watched the smirk underneath his graying mustache turn to a frown.

    “You don’t call me Matt?” He replied, acting baffled while avoiding my question.

    “I was won-”

    “You don’t call me Matt.”

    “I don’t call you Matt.” Although I had a lot of masculine and alpha traits, I knew that I was inferior to the man in front of me. Before I could ask again, Hoffman pushed forward.

    “You have a wife and kids?”

    “I’m actually ga-”

    “You have a wife and kids.”

    “I have a wife and kids,” I replied proudly. My wife and I had been together for almost ten years, and we’d been in love ever since. We had three boys over the last few years, each of them looking almost exactly like their father. I was completely straight, but I had no issue with anybody of another sexaulity or gender. Although I wasn’t one of them, I could still support them.

    As I reflected on my marriage and parenthood, a few aspects of my physical being changed. First, a golden wedding ring formed around my right hand and an expensive watch looped around my left wrist. My butthocks stiffened with the years of fatherhood while my hands roughened from taking care of my growing men. My throat and vocal chords twisted a little, permanently giving me a more demanding, yet concerned tone every father should have. Not much else changed, for as it turned out, fatherhood looked pretty good on me. While the last changes took place, Hoffman turned into a small dirt road and pulled over. We were more than halfway to the station, but because Hoffman had chosen to take only backroads, we were still a good ways out.

    Hoffman opened the door and got out of the car before walking over to where I sat. He opened the door and I got out, turning my cuffed hands towards him. The heat outside was just as miserable as the heat in the car, with both of us having sweat through our uniforms. I got in the passenger seat and melted into the chair. Before I could completely relax, Hoffman threw a pair of boots on my lap. At first I thought they were mine, since I had taken them off earlier, but by the smell and size I could tell that they were his. I had pretty big feet at Size 12, but that was nothing to his Size 16 feet. I took a deep inhale from the large shoes as Hoffman twisted the keys and got the car back on the road. Although I was completely straight, there was something about the scent of a man’s foot that drove me wild.

    “You’re a major consertative?” Hoffman asked, the musk of our sweaty bodies and his old boots deepening my haze.

    “No, I think I people have equa-”

    “You’re a major consertative.”

    “I’m a major conserative.” Why would I support any of those dumb pansies? They were a little fags who would be sent to hell one day. I was on top of the world. I was white, straight, an alpha male. Being a cop, I had it all. I could get away with anything I wanted. I can’t believe people would even be proud of being queers. All those cock-suckers wanted was to have something shoved up their holes; they had no dignity. I would never, ever, support any of those sodomites and their “activities.”

    As the Red blood began to flow through the previously blue veins, new memories began to appear. MAGA rallies replaced equal rights as I expanded my man spread. Stubborn arrogance overtook the once cautious personality as my feet grew a size wider. Years of religious observance to Evangelism replaced my atheist ways while my cock grew a little longer. Respect for others transitioned into respect for only myself while a little more hair grew on my chest. The last things to be modified were my eyes, which adapted a duller, darker brown, showing my lack of consideration and habit of jumping to conclusions.

    “I can’t believe those pathetic faggots,” I started, my shorter, brasher temper rising, “trying to make us look like the bad guys when we’re the only ones who know what’s right.” Hoffman smirked smugly before jumping in.

    “I admire your reactionary views,” he stated, “you have no idea how nice it is to hear your voice in the desert of flamboyant sissies.”

    “Well,” I said after taking another sniff from a boot, “If there’s one thing that Zach Basten stands by, it’s that all queers should be lowered to our feet.”

    “And they’d love it there, Stephen!” Hoffman added, causing us both to holler and guffaw at the joke. As we calmed down, I thought back to what he said and tried to make meaning of it.

    “Your joke was hilariously accurate, but I think your old age is preventing me from remembering my name.”

    “I’m only 53,” Hoffman began, “and your name is Stephen.”

    “No, it’s Zach.” My temper was rising quickly. I couldn’t believe he didn’t remember my name; everyone should know my name.

    “Your name is Stephen,” Hoffman repeated, growing inpatient as well.

    “It’s Zach, yo-” Before I could get to my cuss, Hoffman pushed my head down into one of the boots. Being in a surprised state, I took a long, slow, deep sniff. The hot and steamy atmosphere, along with the boots, sent my mind completely overboard, sending me into autopilot. Hoffman kept his hand firmly on my head, knowing that I was in a weakened state. He quickly began firing statements at me, each one absorbing into my malleable brain as reality.

    “Your name is Stephen.”

    “My name is Stephen.”

    “You’ve always looked up to me, as if I was the only person ever above you.”

    “I’ve always looked up to you, as if you were the only person ever above me.”

    “You are an alpha above everyone but me.”

    “I am an alpha above everyone but you.”

    “We are the greatest partners because you always agree with me.”

    “We are the greatest partners because I always agree with you.”

    “All of your ideas and opinions are what I tell you.”

    “All of my ideas and opinions are what you tell me.”

    Hoffman pulled my head out of the shoe, giving me a chance to breathe some fresh air. I gasped, my eyes flooded with tears from not only the stench, but the amount of information that had just been rewritten. The car finally drove back onto the main road, meaning we were only miles away from the station. Without letting me completely recover, Hoffman wrapped it up.

    “You know why you listen to everything I say, right?”

    “No,” I moaned.

    “Because, son, it’s what you were born to do.”

    “What?” My head was desperately trying to wrap around things.

    “Like father, like son?” He asked. I knew the phrase, but I didn’t know why he was using it now.

    “But I’m no-”

    “Like father, like son?” He persuaded, a little more commandingly.


    “Like father,” he said sternly, “like son.”

    “Like father, like son.”

    — —

    “WE’RE BACK, FAGGOTS!” I yelled while pushing open the door to the station. The station cheered, filling the room with boisterous, low hollers. It was a male-only station, just like how it should be.

    “How was the trip to the Big Apple?” One officer asked, a large, brutish man.

    “It was retarded,” I replied back, rubbing a hand through my brownish-black hair, “everyone there is a pathetic pansy, nothing like the real men we have down here!”

    The men cheered once again, the bass voices echoing off the walls. As I described how I had destroyed a ton of homos and attended another Trump rally, I heard my father come in from behind. I quickly finished my story and turned to face him, giving him my full respect.

    “Stephen Hoffman,” he said, “you forgot something.” He held out a pair of boots, which I instantly recognized as mine from the patches. The station quickly filled with dumb laughs while I put on my Size 16 boots. The officers walked to the conference room for our meeting as I placed the boots over my sweaty black socks. As I tied my laces, I got a quick sniff of my foot funk. It was extra powerful today. My soft 5 inch cock immediately rose to 9 inches of solid meat. My dad, noticing the thick beer canxsized lump as I got back up, placed a strong hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear while leading the way.

    “You’ve never found the smell of a foot appealing, only revolting.”

    “I’ve never found the smell of a foot appealing, only revolting.”

    My massive boner disappeared as we walked into the conference room. I stood in front while my father took a seat. We were the greatest duo that the station had ever seen, but since he’d be retiring at one point, it was time for me to start learning how to be a leader too. I scratched the stubble on my cleft chin as I started.

    “Alright, you queers,” I began, standing wide and crossing my arms,



    Really Good Pics for an Ultra Republican Cop Daddy.


    Not sure how this post ever disappeared, but thank goodness my friend @sjw-publishings had it stored for me XD

    Midas Touch

    Mr. Midas was fairly disappointed by his grand opening. Originally, he had thought that a brilliant watchery had been exactly what the city needed, but looking at his numbers, his idea might have been a little off. Midas Touch Horology had only had a small cluster of customers today, with only half of them knowing what the word “horology” actually meant. One of them had been an old friend too, so they probably didn’t even count as a customer. Hopefully, after the everyone tried on their watches, word would spread fast about where to find the best, most successful accessories in town.

    — —

    “Kaden, bro, where you at?”

    “Give me one more minute!” Kaden continued typing on his tablet as he put on some clothes. Last night had been quite a banger, with the Kappa Sigma Alpha boys throwing a wild party. Kaden had definitely drank an obscene amount, as his hangover was still running strong after 7 hours. Unfortunately, just because he was feeling like crap didn’t mean the deadline for his business paper had been shifted, which meant he’d been editing it all day. Sure, it was going to be a piece of trash in the long haul, but at least it would be in on time.

    “Stubstad! We’re going to miss the investors meeting!”

    “Almost there!”

    Kaden fumbled with his dress shirt as he buttoned it up across his broad chest. The tiniest sprouts of chestnut chest hair poked out from the top as he adjusted the collar. His room, which was covered in dirty clothes and smelled like a rotten jockstrap, did not at all convey the same vibe as the young man who was getting into an expensive suit. Kaden had to look dapper for this event, knowing that the frat’s funds depended on it. Plus, if he appeared and acted appropriately, the 22-year-old could score himself a job after graduation. Trying his best to impress, Kaden had even gone out and purchased an expensive watch. It probably wasn’t his best decision, being that he had had the paper to write and barely enough money to pay for it, but Kaden understood that every detail counted.

    “That’s weird,” Kaden mumbled to himself as he secured the watch around his wrist. The silver and navy watch read half an hour behind, which seemed strange to Kaden. But, without giving it a second thought, he grabbed the small knob and moved the time forward. As the hour hand spun slowly, Kaden didn’t realize his hangover had suddenly disappeared. Not only that, but his youth had also rapidly vanished as well. The softest tissues began to harden as Kaden’s skin grew tighter. His already pronounced jaw pushed out slightly as a scruffy stubble lightly pushed outwards.

    With the hands now halfway across, Kaden’s body took the opportunity to age. His developed six-pack slightly sunk in as some body fat returned. His pecs also dwindled, with the new Kaden not having enough time to keep them at bodybuilder proportions. His biceps and triceps stayed impressive, but his calves and upper thighs became meatier as his future had more experience with sitting. Kaden’s feet also plumped out a size, becoming a little wider to accommodate for the new weight.

    As Kaden finished spinning the hands, a coat of chocolatey fur blossomed across his body. His arms, chest, and legs were doused with a layer, covering the previously-hairless areas with forests. His pits and pubes fluffed up while the hair on his head grew a little thinner, pushing itself back to situate on top of his forehead. Finally, Kaden’s sac dropped a smidgen lower, becoming heavier as more mature sperm overtook the once virile jock.

    Placing down his tablet, the man grabbed his blazer and put it back on. He hadn’t remembered taking it off--or placing it on the floor--but before he could dwell on it further, a frat boy entered the room.

    “Kaden, bro, are you-” the young man stopped short, blinking rapidly. “Mr. Samson, I’m sorry I had no idea you were in here.”

    “It is fine, Bryce,” Mr. Samson replied. “And please, call me Keith. Mr. Samson is my father.”

    “I see, Keith.” Bryce’s response came out awkward. He knew the man only wanted to be called Keith because he wanted to still feel youthful. It must have been hard for the 28-year-old to see a young, sexy, lively frat boy like himself; Mr. Samson must have missed those years.

    “If you don’t mind me asking,” Bryce began. “What are you doing in one of our rooms? You know the investors meeting starts in 10 minutes.”

    “I am aware,” Mr. Samson answered, scrolling through spreadsheets on his tablet. “I just wanted to survey where funds are going, making sure we are supporting the right causes.”


    “Do you know who’s room this is?” Mr. Samson asked.

    “Yes, it’s-” Bryce stuttered for a moment. “Nobody’s. Just an example room at the moment.

    “I see.” Mr. Samson looked around the empty space, devoid of almost anything but a bed and a wardrobe. He should’ve known it was too clean for a frat boy. “Well, I’ve got a few more things I have got to map out and then I will join you all downstairs.”

    “Sounds good, Mr. Samson. I mean Keith!” Bryce corrected himself before quickly stepping out. Mr. Samson smiled, reminiscing about his fraternity days before continuing to work on his tablet.


    — —

    “I’m so sorry to have you come out all this way, but unfortunately we cannot offer you the position.”

    “Oh...I see.”

    Hayden had driven out early this morning thinking he was going to be presented with a job. He’d dressed up in a new suit, tie, and even a watch. Who invites someone out for coffee if they’re giving a rejection?

    “If you don’t mind me asking,” Hayden started cautiously. “I was wondering if you could offer me any feedback about my interview process--anything I can improve on for the future.”

    “I’m sorry, but I don’t have anything to offer, you were excellent.” Hayden rolled his eyes internally as he knew what was coming next. “I’d say the only reason we didn’t hire you was due to your age, which is of course not under your control.”

    At 23, Hayden knew it would be difficult to try and get a good job in the city. Fresh out of college, he didn’t have a lot to experience to offer just yet, making his search much more difficult than it should have been. His tall, lanky figure and light, airy tone made him appear even younger than he was. He had the education, but not enough of the hands-on work.

    “I guess this is just me,” Hayden’s ears sprung up with excitement. Finally a critique on something that was under his control. “but I noticed your watch was off. It’s not something I would dock you for, but an employer with OCD or something could freak out about it.

    “What?” Hayden looked down at his watch, surprised he hadn’t noticed it before. His watch read that it was eleven in the morning when it was actually noon. Embarrassed, Hayden put down the latte he’d been drinking and grabbed the stem, pushing the button to adjust the time. With every press, the minute hand moved towards the next number, adding five minutes, but it also made another change without either of the men noticing.

    The first compacted his spine and thickened his bones to a set him properly at 6’3. The second sent his chest ripping through his shirt with hairy, modest pecs replacing Hayden’s skinny nothingness, but the shirt was immediately stitched back up before anything else could be seen. The third created a ripple throughout the lower half of Hayden’s torso, causing his abs to become more pronounced. The fourth massaged the arms, allowing layers of muscle to be added. The fifth extended his shoulder blades out as the mass increased, giving him an impressive wingspan.

    Halfway there, the sixth push focused on improving Hayden’s legs by providing monstrous calves and steel-cut quads. The seventh provided his bottom with hard muscle lurking underneath what looked like a jelly-like layer. The eighth caused his feet to rip out of his shoes, Size 13 toes wiggling free as fat sausages before the dress shoes reshaped themselves to a suitable size. The ninth brought a thickness to the neck that hadn’t been there before, providing Hayden with a deeper, huskier tone. The tenth restructured Hayden’s face as his boyhood was wiped away, leaving a strong jaw, big chin, thicker brows, and tighter skin. The eleventh saturated his body with a soft blanket of hair, also adding a nice dark stubble for the beginnings of a beard and moustache. The finishing press tripled the size of Hayden’s cock, letting it slither a little further out of his briefs to make room for his swollen testicles.

    “I’m sorry,” Harvey brought his eyes back into focus, lost for a moment. At only 35, he was bewildered he’d already forgot what the two men had been talking about. “I think I spaced out there for a moment. What were we discussing again?”

    “You’re all good,” the man replied. “We’re offering you the position. You have exactly what the company is looking for in terms of education and experience. If you are available, we would like you to stop by this afternoon to sign some forms.”

    “Well then, how about we finish our drinks and then get to work?” Harvey answered swimmingly, grabbing his cup of espresso to take a celebratory swig.


    — —

    “Happy Birthday tooooooo…”

    Collin groaned as his friends held out the last note.


    Everyone cheered and applauded, laughing as Collin took a shot. Sure, the middle of the day was probably too early for alcohol, but he thought turning 25 would allow it. One of his friends began cutting the cake and serving slices while his boyfriend cuddled up to him on the couch. The two had been dating for almost a year now, so Collin was surprised to see the gift he’d given.

    “Aden!” Collin exclaimed, his mouth stuffed with a piece of cake. “You shouldn’t have!”

    “What, it wasn’t that much,” Aden smirked.

    “Then tell me this isn’t gold plating,” Collin pointed to the watch’s case.

    “What do you care,” a friend piped in. “He’s the boss now, remember.”

    Everyone cheered to that, except Collin. The couple had originally met as coworkers, but recently Aden had accepted a promotion recently, putting him above Collin. Collin was happy for his boyfriend, but it felt kind of weird to be (for lack of better words) under his control. He’d never express his feelings to Aden, but Collin just didn’t like Aden moving up the corporate ladder without him. Collin liked to be the one in control in the relationship, so obviously this created an odd dilemma. Not only that, but a lot of the men farther up were old-fashioned, stodgy conservatives, so as irrational as the fear was, Collin was scared those types might gain some sort of influence over his sweet, gentle boyfriend.

    The rest of the party was a blast. As everyone had taken the weekday off from work, they were all in the mood to get day-drunk, but after a few hours, everyone had left the house to leave Collin and Aden alone. Deciding to get some fresh air, they strolled around downtown hand-in-hand, simply enjoying each other’s company.

    “Hey,” Aden began, swinging up their arms. “I didn’t realize your watch was off.”

    “Oh?” Collin looked to see that Aden was right, with the face reading exactly an hour and a half off. Grabbing the dial, he giggled internally at the randomness of his outfit. Sweatshorts and a crop top paired up with a golden watch; it was a little humorous.

    “I got it.” Aden gracefully grabbed Collin’s palm and began spinning the hands. As he did so, he didn’t register that the hand he was holding became harder, rougher, and ultimately larger. The lightest of brown hairs quickly became darker and furrier, travelling up Collin’s arm which became more muscular every second.

    With Aden’s eyes still fixated on the watch, he didn’t see as his boyfriend suddenly shot up a noticeable amount of inches, surpassing Aden by almost a head. He also couldn’t notice how his boyfriend’s chest puffed up, his crop top changing into a firmer material as it reached down to cover the hardening pecs and muscle gut. A decent amount of fur also plastered itself across his boyfriend’s chest, but it couldn’t be seen due to the salmon-striped button up.

    As Aden got closer to the correct time, his friend continued to change. Legs lengthening out and thickening appropriately, expanding from twinky sticks to the trunks of a real man. Hairs sprouted from beneath the hardening skin, but they were promptly covered by the straight, pleated trousers that emerged. Long, sheer socks and pointy, polished oxfords encompassed Aden’s friend’s feet, which grew veiny and fat as they morphed into Size 14’s, a far cry from the previously dainty Size 8.

    A darkly-colored tie silently tightened itself around Aden’s coworker’s neck while a plaid blazer materialized upon his broadened shoulders and straightened back. Aden slowly fixed the hands into their proper place as the last of the changes materialized. His jaw, formerly a little pointed and sharp, now spread wide and hung low, giving his face a square, lantern shape. A prominent mustache centered itself onto his coworker’s previously clean-shaven fact. As his features became stockier, his hair brutally slicked itself back, a superfluous amount of grease pulling his hairline back notably. It was much more corporate than the quiff he’d had before, but it was a classic style for a reason. Lastly, a pair of suspenders gripped onto the waistband of the trouser and lifted them up, tightening his coworkers perky bottom into two hard slabs and squeezing the man’s much longer, meatier cock. His balls, which had become tremendously heavier, were now scrunched up into an uncomfortable moose knuckle.

    “There you go, Conrad.” Aden smiled as he took a step away. Suddenly, his eyes flashed from glee to alarm.

    “Excuse me, faggot?” Conrad sneered, wiping off his wrist as if he’d been infected. “Not only do you sexually violate me, but you call me by my name?”

    “I’m so sorry,” Aden stumbled, feeling as if he should fall to the ground on his knees. He knew coming out to his alpha, homophobic boss was a bad idea, but for some reason he just felt like he had to get it off his chest.

    “You better be, because you can kiss that promotion goodbye. I have roamed this planet for 43 years and I still am not treated with proper respect.” Conrad began walking off, done with this fairy piece of trash.

    “No, Sir, please!” Aden begged, catching up. “I’ll do anything! I promise!”

    Anything?” Conrad sniggered, stopping.

    “Yes,” Aden’s eyes lit up with hope. “Anything!”

    “Good,” Conrad didn’t turn around but tossed a key behind him. Aden barely caught it. “You are now in charge of doing all my laundry. Ironing, dry cleaning, you name it and it is your job. If I find you doing ANYTHING besides laundry with my clothes, you will be fired before you can even say the word ‘homosexual’. Understand?”

    “Yes, Sir.” Aden looked down in defeat.

    “Good,” Conrad finally turned around. “I appreciate the honorifics, so in turn I will refer to you as ‘boy’.” And with that, Conrad left his servant, a look of content on his face as he made his way back to the office.


    — —

    “Dad! This is...wow…it’s just-”

    “Think of it as an early graduation present.”

    Tennyson rolled the watch around in his hands. He’d wanted a new vehicle to use before college, making this gift extremely unexpected. The thing had both an old-fashioned and a brand-spanking new look to it. The black leather strap, silver spring lugs, and batons were obviously all made from expensive materials. Tennyson was still a few months out from ending his senior year of high school, making the watch even more of a complete surprise.

    “How did you afford this?” Tennyson asked, concerned over how much money his father had spent.

    “It really wasn’t as much as you’d think,” his father chuckled. “I know the owner, so he gave me a generous discount.”

    “Wow...just wow.” Still in a slight state of shock, Tennyson grabbed a cup from one of the kitchen cupboards and filled it with tap water. In one go, he shot the whole thing down to his stomach. When he was down, he filled it again before strolling back into the living room. Tennyson took a seat on the armrest of the living room couch. It had a hideous olive color to it, one that he both loved and despised.

    “Well?” Tennyson’s dad asked. “Are you going to try it on or what?”

    “Oh, right now?” Tennyson questioned, receiving a nod in response. After a little fiddling, Tennyson managed to secure the leather strap around his wrist and tighten it. The case felt as if it was frozen beforehand, sending a cold chill through his hand.

    “How does it feel?”

    “Great,” Tennyson smiled before noticing something off. “Did you already set the time?”

    “No, why?”

    “Oh, it’s just two hours late.” Tennyson reached for the button to correct the simple error.

    “Wait! Son, don’t tou-”

    But Tennyson had already grabbed the knob and began spinning the hands. Instantly, his clothes evaporated into thin air, leaving Tennyson in only his plaid boxers. He should’ve felt the sudden chill that accompanies almost-total nudity, but instead he didn’t notice a thing as he continued turning the dial. His father however, was too stunned at the mistake he’d made to take his eyes away from the scene.

    Tennyson’s bones shifted as his spine lengthened, allowing his knees and elbows to snap before popping back into place and leaving him at a new whopping height of 6’4. His arms inflated as meat was packaged into them, followed by abs that appeared on his flat stomach. His pecs and shoulders became rounder and fuller, seeking not to be left behind. The muscles in Tennyson’s legs joined in on the fun, enlarging and bulking to keep up with the rest of him. Tennyson’s father watched anxiously as his son’s body developed into a frightening larger form. 

    As Tennyson made it past the first hour, he reached a hand up and scratched in between the valley of his pecs, allowing a light dusting of hair to form. His neck thickened and made way for a pronounced Adam’s apple. While his father watched on, Tennyson’s face changed in an instant. There was nothing boyish or youthful about it any more; Tennyson now sported a square jaw, thick brows, and the beginnings of a stubble. Even his hair style changed, slicking itself back as it lost a little height and definition.

    Quickly, the last of the changes took place within Tennyson’s boxers. First, the plaid disappeared as the ends pulled inward, creating a comfortably snug pair of white briefs. His buttocks grew on the armrest, the bubbly feature pushing Tennyson a little higher up. His cock and testicles also became larger and fuller, growing out of teenage mass producers and into mature baby makers. As a final blessing, a pelt of dirty blond hair grew all over Tennyson’s body.

    Before Tennyson’s father could admire his son’s physical body any further, a suit emerged from the abyss. His calves and thighs had pants magically appear around them before being drawn taut. Now sporting well-ironed pinstripe charcoal slacks, a pale blue shirt formed over Tennyson’s open chest. It pulled itself down, tucking into his pants as buttons began to form along the front. The sleeves moved, working to swallow Tennyson’s arms and elbows before forming cuffs at the end. A collar popped out of the top and a silk lavender tie slithered out from underneath, knotting itself tightly.

    At Tennyson’s feet--which had expanded into a monstrous Size 15--a perfect pair of dress socks enveloped his chunky toes. Then, a pair of black leather oxfords comfortably slipped themselves on before lacing up. With that finished, a pinstripe suit coat magically appeared onto Tennyson’s body as well, making his overall frame look even bulkier than it already did. However, the blazer also looked snug. If his arms were any thicker, they would’ve probably shredded through the coat jacket.

    “There we go,” a deeper voice bellowed, the bass throwing Tennyson’s father off guard. The sudden surprise finally woke him out of his daze.

    “What do you think of it, Terrence?”

    “It makes me realize how old I’m getting,” Terrence quipped, making the two laugh. “At 18 I was excited about getting a car, and now at 42 a watch is an amazing gift.”

    “I’m sorry, little brother, I didn’t mean to buy you such a boring gift.”

    “Whatever, old man. You’ve still got four years on me,” Terrence taunted back. “But I think it is a rather perfect gift.” Disappointed that he had to return to work, Terrence grabbed his glass from earlier and took a final sip of the strong whiskey, thankful for his caring older brother.


    — —

    “Huh, this is kinda cool.”

    Logan peered down at the small box sitting beside him on the couch, surprised he hadn’t noticed it before. It was covered in blue velvet with a small golden pin on top, the letter “M” engraved carefully into it. Pulling his hand out of his sweatshirt pocket, he gracefully grabbed the box and brought it to his face to investigate. Before opening the box, he peered at the clock across the hotel lobby, noticing his hookup was late.

    Logan had originally come to the hotel to meet with someone he’d met online, a bear who wasn’t entirely out of the closet yet. And by entirely, Logan meant the bear had a wife with three kids. This was the first time the two would see each other in person, but it would probably be the last too. Unless the sex was really, really good, there would be no reason to keep the relationship going. Sure, cheating and lying was bad, but more importantly Logan was a spry, 24-year-old twink with a future ahead of him. He didn’t want to be wasting his life with some closeted family man.

    Breaking the latch, Logan removed the lid and was surprised to find an expensive watch inside. With a dark, leather strap and obsidian-black crystal, he couldn’t believe someone had just carelessly left it in a hotel lobby. Logan knew what the morally right thing to do was, but that didn’t mean that was the option he was going to take. Stealthily, he shoved the box into the back pocket of his jeans and secured the watch around his wrist. Before he covered it with his sleeve however, he noticed it was off by quite a lot. He’d noticed that the hotel’s clock before had read 4:30, so the watch’s stubborn 2:00 pm was obviously off. Making sure no one noticed, he grabbed the crown and began correcting.

    It took him less than 15 seconds to change the time. However--unbeknownst to him, the other hotel occupants, and the security cameras that had easily captured Logan’s act of theft--the digits displayed on the watch weren’t the only things that had changed. The boy who had originally sat at the couch had ascended a few inches, due to a lengthened spine and thickened quads. His buttocks had majorly deflated, becoming hard, cold bricks; a shelf rather than a cushion. His calves had also sharpened, becoming more defined and angular.

    Logan’s arms had taken on a unique amount of muscle, one that was only accumulated through years of efficient but lean work. Biceps and triceps that could easily, yet weren’t meant to lift. His arms were formed from traditional masculine duties like lawncare and construction. Logan’s new abs and pecs also didn’t come from working out, but instead daily walks and healthy eating, which had also maximized his feet out to a Size 13. His soft, boyish charm had hardened out with a cleft chin and steel-cutting jaw. His nose had thickened, his brow bloated, and his hair had magically become longer and better styled. A salt-and-pepper stubble, along with the tiniest of gray highlights, had also attached themselves to Logan’s head.

    Logan’s pouch also got a major improvement too, gaining both girth and length for the cock and weight for the balls. They all expanded in his pair of white briefs, stretching out the confines obscenely. Wrinkles had also cracked out over Logan’s soft skin, callusing it as it weathered with the years. The outfit Logan originally wore had radically changed, as the new man was now adorning a stylish blue sit. It showed off his figure excellently, the metrosexual looking sexy and stylish. 

    As soon as the 15 seconds had passed, an elevator door at the other end of the lobby opened up to reveal a hirsute man. He obviously seemed stressed, looking around anxiously before spotting the couch. He rushed over silently, trying to avoid a scene.

    “Logan? I’m Brian from online. Are you here for...you know...” he rambled. He was almost completely taken aback by the man, surprised to see a male of the similar age instead of a young, virile twink. But, this was the meeting spot the two had agreed too. And he wasn’t about to complain, the man was a total stud. He just rationalized that you can never trust online dating.

    “Am I here for what?” the man announced, his eyes flickering. “An affair?”

    “Yes.” The man tried to keep the conversation low.

    “With you? My good Lord, never! Do you even know who I am?”

    “So you’re not Logan?”

    “My name is Lawrence, sodomite,” Lawrence began, his anger rising. His extremely childish behavior seemed strange coming out of a 54-year-old. “Get out of my territory or I will be reporting you to the staff for harassment.”

    “Wait, what?” the man replied confused. “I have no ide-”

    “Shut up!” Lawrence shouted, causing passersby to turn. “I never want to see your pansy face in my presence ever again. I cannot even believe you had the audacity, let alone speak to me. Get out! GET OUT!”

    The other man scurried away, both embarrassed and on the verge of tears. Logan looked on in silent content, a sly smirk emerging on his face as he watched.


    — —

    Brayden sat himself down on the bench, unsure of what to do. The 10-year-old had told his friends to meet at the park by noon, except no one had showed up yet. He had been eager to pay a few rounds of freeze tag, but now he was just getting bored. He had begged his parents incessantly to let him come alone, so if nobody showed up he was going to be mad.

    Brayden arched his head down to look at the Mickey Mouse watch around his wrist, noticing Mickey’s giant hand still hadn’t moved. He was getting extremely impatient, so much so that he was about to leave until he saw a tiny object sparkle from beneath him. Looking under his seat, he was surprised to find such a rare treasure.

    “Woah, cool!” Brayden reached down and grabbed the small watch, surprised he had discovered it. It had an interesting shape, rectangular and plated in a gold-like material. The face was rather boring to look at, nothing to compare to his own, but he was still amazed by the adult watch. Excitedly, he wrapped it around his wrist and tightened it to the max, making it just barely fit. Now investigating it up close, he was surprised to see the time was off. Way off.

    “An adult can’t tell time,” he giggled. Looking at his own watch and comparing it to the adult version, he had to move ahead four hours. The task seemed fairly simple enough. He grabbed the button and dialed forward.

    The first revolution expanded Brayden’s dick as well as his rear end. Had anyone passed by they would have witnessed the seat of Brayden’s pants inflating on the bench, filling his cargo shorts with muscle. His buttocks ballooned out, perky and firm, with each of his cheeks forcing his boxers further up his legs. His new python of a cock now stuffed the front pouch while his massive adult testicles pushed the superhero underwear to the limit. The boy never once noticed the change, or how his thighs and biceps also expanded to the point of choking his clothes.

    The second revolution caused Brayden’s chest to rumble, pushing out of his shirt. The muscles carved themselves fuller and wider, causing his pecs to grow and his nipples to harden the more his twin knockers firmed up. Not to be out done, Brayden’s delts formed into a back worthy of a mountain climber. His arms extended out dramatically, filling in with muscle and forcing the Mickey Mouse watch to break off. Brayden’s jaw grew much bigger, reshaping itself with angular features to allow a coating of peach fuzz before it matured into a full mustache and beard. The rest of his body also gained a generous layer of hair, decorating his pits, pubes, and calves especially. The top of his head however had its contents reduced, pulling back the hairline to create a receding front that only came with wisdom.

    The third revolution created the clothes that would create an alpha. His superhero underwear (which was on the brink of destruction) morphed into a pristine pair of white briefs, hoisting themselves up over his belly button to give extra support. A dark pair of pants began to form over the muscular legs. They had an impeccable crease down each leg, all the way to the hems. Brayden’s shirt (which had been recently torn apart) came back together, reforming as something that was worthy of an elite businessman. A starchy material replaced the soft cotton, while a striped tie fastened itself over Brayden’s now prominent Adam’s apple. A blazer materialized on top, followed by a pair of monk-straps which encased the Size 14 toes that had been free in the air.

    The fourth rotation made the finishing touches. An extra grey hair here, a small wrinkle there--a few creases on his forehead plus a little extra size to his ears. A wedding ring materialized on his finger before disappearing, a pale mark left behind due to the recentness of the divorce. Reaching down momentarily, Brayden absentmindedly adjusted himself, thinking about how his nice and heavy package gave him a few pretty fine lads. Before he could bring his hand back up to finish, a young woman walked by with wide eyes.


    Brayden looked up, confused. Who was this girl, and who was Brad? He finished the rotation trying to figure what to say, noticing the girl twitch before she continued.

    “I mean, Dr. Benton. I had no idea you still taught at the school.”

    Dr. Benton looked over the student, embarrassed he hadn’t recognized her right away.

    “Clarissa! It’s always good to see a former student.”

    “Still teaching in the Business Department after all these years?”

    “I just turned 58, I am not that old,” Dr. Benton replied. “But yes, I enjoy the work.”

    “Well, I have about 15 minutes before my next seminar, are you free to catch up?”

    Checking his watch and deciding it would be best to socialize, Dr. Benton found himself available.


    — —

    The next day, Mr. Midas felt much more enthusiastic about his business. Apparently, word had spread that a bunch of successful men were now sporting Midas Touch Horology watches, bringing in customers from all around. People had bought gold watches, plated straps, and decorated crystals thinking that the clothes would make the man, and how right they were. 

    The watches were specially designed to bring people to the most successful time in their life. After strapping on one of Mr. Midas’ accessories, it would designate a unique measurement for peak wealth, and all they had to do was activate the watch’s crown to initiate the process. Of course, no one ever knew that Mr. Midas’s watches actually did provide “midas touch”; but it was fun to knowing that he was forging men made of gold.


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    The bigger the sac, the better the pack!

    — —

    “C’mon, it could be fun!”

    “Yeah,” Jerry retorted. “It could be extremely dangerous too.”

    Jerry and I had been a pretty steady couple for almost two years now. An interconnected friend had introduced the two of us and we’d hit it off like some cheap rom-com. Seriously, it was insane how fast we had fallen for each other. Usually blind dates turn out to be trash, but Jerry was a treasure. A gymnast at 5’8, he was practically the perfect bottom for any man, which was why I originally found it funny that he wanted to invest his time in a vers like me. To be fair, I am fairly attractive with my 6’0 twunky build and blond locks, but I wasn’t as lovely as him. 

    Now, just because he was lovely did not mean he was perfect. Certainly after all this time I’d discovered a few of his faults. We’d grown as tight as two peas in a pod, relishing in each other’s company and exchanging basically every secret over our time spent together, including our kinks. Mine ranged from tight spandex to watersports, while it would be generous to say he had a range. Jerry was 100% vanilla, and it wasn’t until I forced him to take a few BDSM tests that he realized truly how sexually safe he was. His ideas of original ideas of sex were as Christian as they came, as least if one ignores that pesky gay factor. TO put it all simply, I was Christian Grey, and he was my very own Anastasia Steele.

    I hope I’ve made my use of the past tense fairly obvious up to this point. When we had originally revealed our sexual interests, both of us were content with our different standards, but apparently my kink flexibility had bothered Jerry. A month after our original conversation, I was leading Jerry into our shared room when he uttered that he wanted to try something new. He delicately paced over to a cabinet and opened a drawer, revealing a pair of handcuffs inside it. My eyes immediately lit up, but I took a few breaths to calm myself down. I was extremely elated and aroused, but if Jerry wanted to experiment, I’d have to go slow.

    Jerry’s made it a long way since his vanilla-self a few months ago. Since that first encounter, we’ve tried out other forms of bondage, leather, and even diapers. We’d been getting pretty close to some of the much grittier elements, so I decided that it might be a good idea to go big or go home with our next experimentation. Body modifications had always been a fascination of mine, but never a serious thought for Jerry. I didn’t want to push him into anything, but I was planning on enticing him with a deal. If he was willing to get some form of body modification, I would take him on a trip for our 2-year anniversary. One may say it was kind of a douche move and yes, I would agree with you, but I was desperate. So that’s where we were now, Jerry trying to figure out if I was incredibly crafty or pushing my luck.

    “I’m really not sure about this,” he mumbled.

    “I know,” I replied. “That’s why I added the vacation as a thank you. But if you decline, I’ll still make our anniversary special.”

    Jerry played with a spoon in his hands while looking at his açaí bowl emotionlessly. I could tell he was lost inside his head. I thought he was going to reject my proposal until the unexpected happened.

    “Where would you intend to go for this trip?”

    “Panama Beach.” I tried to hide my eager grin as I felt the mood in the room flip.

    “And how long would it be?”

    “Four nights.”

    “And on what level would I be spoiled?”


    He stirred his bowl once more before continuing the interrogation.

    “You have a procedure in mind, don’t you.”

    “You know me so well,” I coyly responded as I turned my laptop towards him. 

    “ScrotamPlus?!” Jerry exclaimed a little too loudly. After sending an acknowledgement of apology to nearby strangers, he shot me a fierce look. “Out of everything, I thought you would have wanted a bigger butt.”

    “I thought about it, but I was curious,” I countered. “Plus, this is much easier to remove if something ends poorly.”

    “Ah, thanks for mentioning that possibility,” he snarked glumly. “The last thing I would need is a botched scrotox.”

    I choked a little on my smoothie, laughing internally at the thought. Jerry continued searching through the website, scrolling his way through different FAQs and procedural tips.

    “Is this something you really want?” he finally asked after a few more minutes had passed.

    “Only if you want to,” I answered. “I know you want to expand your horizons, and I think this would be a good next step.”

    “Silicone injections into my balls?”

    “Only if you want to,” I repeated. “I’m not forcing anything.”

    Jerry grabbed a fork and started poking at his bowl once more, only this time after a few minutes he raised his head to give me a look of surrender. I’m not gonna lie, it may have been one of the cutest faces he’s ever made for me.


    “Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll do it.”

    “Yes!” I grinned, leaning over for a kiss in excitement. This was going to be awesome! “We leave on Thursday.”

    “That soon?”

    “I said this was an anniversary trip didn’t I?”

    “And you already have all the reservations made?”

    “Yes sir.”

    Jerry gave me a comprehending look. “You knew I was going to cave, didn’t you?”

    “I know how to get my man what he wants,” I replied, getting up from the table to throw out my trash. Before I left, I quickly added, “to get what I want.”

    I heard a string of cuss words follow behind me as I cockily strolled away.

    — —

    “Alright, are you sure about this?” I asked, the needle in hand.

    We had gotten to our hotel about an hour before, landing in the airport around 10 o’clock. It was already pretty dark everywhere, making it hard for us to see any of the sandy beaches and palm trees I had promised. Once we’d made it to our room, we’d ordered pizza and vegged out on our king-sized bed. It had been a pretty relaxing hour for me, but I think it was a little nerve-racking for Jerry. We had originally planned to use ScrotamPlus on our last day, but Jerry asked if we could do the procedure tonight just to get it over with.

    The kit didn’t have too many materials--the simplicity of it all actually shocked me. Inside the box laid a pretty short needle, two cartridges filled with the silicone, and a single vial of white liquid. The procedure only required a few short steps. First, I had to prepare the area, sanitizing and removing any hair within the targeted patch. Secondly, I had to pierce the skin and inject one of the two silicone bases. Once that was finished, it was my job to delicately keep the needle in place while I switched out the empty silicone container with the vial. Finally, the whitish fluid would be injected to activate the silicone and the process would be over. Currently, Jerry and I were at the second step.

    “Yes,” Jerry said confidently. “I can do this.”

    “But do you want to?” I pushed, making sure this was his decision and not mine. He thought it over quickly and nodded an affirmative. With that, I pushed the needle into his skin.

    “Oh!” he yelped in surprise. The puncture should have been much more painful, but the ScrotamPlus package had stated its sanitation materials had quite a lot of numbing chemicals. It took me a few moments to get the silicone injected, causing Jerry to laugh.

    “Ugh, my balls feel so full,” he grumbled loosely.

    Once I had finished with that, I quickly switched out the container with the vial. Just looking at Jerry’s testicles now I could tell there was a difference. They were already a little plumper and (by Jerry’s testimony) heavier. Even some of the usual wrinkles had disappeared due to the bloated mass. 

    I slowly pumped the white fluid in, not really understanding why it was needed. According to the package, it was an activation agent, but I didn’t think silicone would need activation. Not only that, but I didn’t really understand the point of the second silicone base. My questions didn’t matter however because as fast as the process had started, the vial was empty and I was removing the needle. I smoothly put the provided bandage in place and brought an eager smile to Jerry.

    “Is it over?” he inquired.

    “Sure is, baby,” I responded, kissing him before moving under the sheets beside him. “Now, we wait ‘till the morning.”

    Jerry, feeling content with how fluidly the procedure had carried out, snuggled up beside me and fell asleep almost instantly. All that pent-up stress must have really worn him out. I soon followed, cupping his heated, hefty sac delightedly before also drifting away.

    — —

    Waking up, the last thing I expected to feel was alone. I only now realized how massive the bed was with only my body inside of it. After a little tossing and turning, I finally managed to wrangle myself free from the sheets and comforter. Grabbing a stray shirt to cover myself at least partially, I noticed the clock read that it was pretty close to eight in the morning. Looking out the nearby window, I could tell the sun had already started its daily duties. The dining hall wouldn’t open for another hour, so I decided that I would clean up before trying to find Jerry.

    After a warm shower and putting on a fresh set of clothes, I wandered out of the bathroom to notice a note taped to the bedside table. It seemed pretty large, which made it surprising that I didn’t see it before. The note itself read:

    Morning dude! Woke up kinda early so headed to beach. I be back around 8, but if wake up--come find me!

    Overall, the note didn’t seem like Jerry’s work. The handwriting was a sharp downgrade from Jerry’s usual style, giving a more carefree and symbolic take to the English language. The noticeable grammatical issues were also fairly strange, but I rationalized that all of the quirks were due to Jerry being in a rush. Checking myself one last time in the mirror at the door, I snatched my room key and headed out to find Jerry.

    My entire descent through the hotel and out towards the beach was uncharacteristically easy. One would expect to see a resort bustling and lively at almost any hour, but apparently I had hit a barren timeframe. Even in an empty wasteland however, I struggled to find Jerry. Out of the entire empty hotel and beach, I didn’t see my cute little gymnast, let alone another human being. It wasn’t until I went out to the water that I actually found someone.

    “Hey!” I shouted, noticing the man from afar. Sitting on a flight of wooden steps that led down to the beach, he seemed like a powerful alpha male. He was wearing a teal tee and a pair of tight, red khaki shorts that were stretched against both of his mighty thighs. His jaw was fairly carved, and I could see two gargantuan feet from still yards away. All in all, he seemed pretty intimidating. Noticing I was calling to him, he quickly responded. 

    “Hey, you found me!”


    His smile of recognition did not match my look of bewilderment. After a few moments of awkward silence, I finally figured out who I was talking to.


    “Who else would it be?” His deep baritone voice replied, an incredibly different tone than the Jerry I knew. There were plenty of other differences as well: the much-extended height, the more muscular figure, the hair. Jerry barely had to shave before, but this man was clearly hirsute. Even the hair on his head had grown out a little, along with bushier eyebrows and a full-out beard. His entire stature had shifted too, making him appear much more bulkier with thicker legs and a wider jaw.

    Looking a little closer, I realized the clothes Jerry was wearing were my own. The shirt that held so tightly to his upper arms never looked that good on my own, and until now I hadn’t been able to see the front of the shorts.

    “Jerry,” I cautiously began. “Your balls.”

    They were huge. Literally, there was a gigantic sac cupped inside of the shorts. They were definitely going to be stretched to the extent I wouldn’t be able to wear them again.

    “Arre they not incrredible?” I was too busy admiring the hefty pouch that I missed the fact he had rolled his r’s.

    “So...” I mumbled, trying to wrap my head around the situation. “Do you…do you think this is all a side effect of the ScrotamPlus?”

    “I assume so?” he replied honestly. “I guess biggerr balls means morre testosterrone prroduction, rright?”

    “And an accent too?” I noted, finally picking up and acknowledging it.

    “What do you mean?” Jerry gave me a quizzical look. I thought about pushing further, but I decided to ignore it. All of these changes were insane but maybe Jerry was right. The website seemed totally legit, and the company was approved by a lot of organizations. Jerry’s nonchalant attitude towards the situation must have made me feel a lot more comfortable than I should have. 

    Not only that, but I was beginning to think less with my head. Unsurprisingly, my cock was slowly gaining control of the situation. The completely new man in front of me was blocking out all rational thought. I should have been much, much more concerned over Jerry, but instead I wanted to try the new him out.

    “What do you say we head back to our room?” I asked, extending my palm forward and not-so-subtly fondling his pouch. The new weight was surely impressive.

    “I don’t think so,” he replied nervously before pushing my hand away. I was caught off guard by the look of distress that had plastered itself across his face. I was also shocked by the amount of force that came out of his hand. It seemed a little more powerful than “get out of my no-no square”, as if there was a deeper meaning behind it.

    “Is something wrong?”

    “No...no I just…” he stammered, which came off as incredibly odd in his new macho form.

    “It’s ok.” I sat down next to him and side-hugged him, trying to soothe him. His new form had an interesting musk that I couldn’t smell until now, almost woodsy. My attempt to console him was rejected however, as I get pushed away and was once again greeted with a disgusted look.

    “I’m just not feeling good,” he stated firmly. “I think I want to go out today. Away from the hotel.”

    “Alright,” I quickly replied. “We can do whatever you want. There’s a nice mall down by-”

    “I want to go alone.”

    His words were so strong I felt almost like I had been slapped in the face.


    “Yes, uh…” he tried to rebound, noticing I had taken offense. “You have given me such a great anniverrsarry gift, I feel like mine doesn’t comparre. I want to make it up to you and get you something morre.”

    “Oh, honey.” I didn’t try to touch him this time, but yet he still grimaced. “That’s so sweet of you, but you don’t have to do that. You already did something great for me.” I guided my eyes down to his swollen pouch.

    “No, I do.” His firm proclamation was emphasized as he stood up, displaying his new height for all to see. He was definitely taller than me now. “I’ll see you laterr tonight with the prresent.”

    “Tonight?” I called as he started to walk off. “Are you sure? What will you be doing all day?”

    “You’ll see!” he shouted back. Although Jerry was now a much larger presence, he disappeared much faster than I could have expected. It almost felt like he was trying to get away from me.

    — —

    Honestly, the rest of the day went by hastily. I felt bad that I didn’t reach out to Jerry once in the morning, afternoon, or evening, but I thought it might be best to leave him alone. He was practically given an entirely new body from the ScrotamPlus, so it made sense that he’d want some time to be with himself. I assumed the new gift story was just to be nice to me, but his uncharacteristic behavior had definitely puzzled me. It wasn’t until around 10 that he texted me to come to our room for a surprise. I had been moping on a barstool for the last hour, so I think the bartender must have been exceptionally delighted to see me leave, especially because I hadn’t ordered a single drink.

    Walking into our room, I was greeted by some dimmed lights and closed curtains. Taking my shoes off, I noticed Jerry had left out a what I presumed was a little pregame gift for me in the kitchen. On the dining table sat a tall glass of champagne and a note. Picking up the glass first and taking a few sips, I grabbed the note and read it over.

    Funtime now. Drik up than sex.

    Once again, the handwriting was completely off, more than last time. This morning’s masterpiece looked like elementary work, but now it was just straight caveman. Not only was Jerry’s writing awful, but his grammar too. I even tried to ignore the spelling, but it was just too funny. It was too insane to be real, so I just chuckled as I drank some more of the champagne. Noticing the door was closed to the bedroom, I was delighted to see a strip of light shining from underneath it. Strutting forward, I gracefully chugged the last of the champagne and swung open the gateway. Before I could catch myself, the empty champagne glass fell to the floor and shattered.

    “J-J-Jerry?” The words barely escaped my mouth.


    “Geetesh,” the man in front of me corrected. The man who was most definitely not Jerry. The man who was currently sitting on the king-sized bed imprisoning one of my pillows and wearing nothing but a pair of black Calvin Kleins--my Calvin Kleins. The only reason I could tell it was him was because he was wearing the smart watch I had gotten him for our first anniversary, but that argument was assuredly not solid.

    “What…what…” I was mentally falling apart, unable to understand the scene in front of me. “How did this happen?”

    “How deed vat happen?”

    “This!” I blurted out, carefully stepping over the glass and climbing next to him in the bed. Getting closer to him caused me to once again encountered his musk, only this time it was much more potent and had a curryish flavor to it.

    “You are…you look…”

    “Zo much bedderr,” Geetesh finished. “Dankz do diz.” He brought one of his palms down to cup his inflated sac graciously. And by palms, I mean one of his two meaty, hairy paws. And by his inflated sac, I mean the massive moose knuckle that was being formed by the too-small boxer-briefs--another item of clothing I probably wouldn’t be able to wear again.

    “But Jerry-”


    “Geetesh,” I decided to play along. “You look totally different! I mean…” I stumbled off as I truly looked over all the changes myself. First off, he was no longer white. Assuming based off of the accent and his new name the body had to have origins in India. Because of this, his body’s features had matched accordingly. Darker and thicker hair, lusciously tanned skin, bulkier body proportions. His monstrous thighs from this morning had somehow grown even larger, and his pecs had also pushed out slightly. I hadn’t seen his torso before but now there was a proudly blooming muscle gut. His biceps and triceps had expanded, his calves and further developed, and even his feet had extended out to what must have been Size 15 at least. I had yet to even mention the further-structured jaw and deeper voice.

    “But dey arre good chayngez, हां?”

    “हां?” I mimicked back. Not only had his body changed, but it must have affected his mind and personality too. This morning he was just rolling his r’s, but now Jerry had a full on accent--and he could even speak what I assumed was Hindi now too?

    “Geetesh,” I started slowly. “You understand that something has gone terribly wrong here, right?” Although the man sitting beside me looked and acted completely different from my boyfriend, I still felt a strong connection and responsibility for him.

    “Vat iz vrrong?” he countered innocently. “मुझे अच्छा लगता है.”

    “But this isn’t you.”

    “Diz iz not Jerrree” he corrected, butchering his former name in the process. “I am Geetesh.”

    “But you’re not supposed to be Geetesh.”

    “Vy not?”

    “Because Geetesh isn’t Jerry! He’s not my boyfriend! He’s not the man I loved.”

    “Dat iz rright, men zouldn’t love ohder men.” Geetesh smirked and continued, “And Geetesh iz betterr.”

    Ignoring the first part of his argument, I continued with my original complaint.

    “Geetesh is not better.”

    “Yez he iz,” Geetesh stated firmly. “I’m biggerr, brrownerr, and I have diz huge hairee सैक.”

    “What?” I was confused by both his logic and the fact he had slipped out of English once again. As if he was proving a point, he pulled down his underwear to show me his package. The now pure-brown balls hung low, and his dark and hairy cock must have been at least 7 inches long soft. He even had an out-of-control bush that shrouded the entire assortment like a shrine. Before I could examine any further however, Geetesh quickly pulled his underwear back up, looking rather embarrassed to have another man staring at his parts.

    “I still don’t understand,” I tried to initiate the conversation once again. “Jerry is my boyfriend! I don’t get why you feel like you can just let him go?”

    “Id’z juzt abouht rrace: brrown iz zuperriorr.”

    “I...I don’t-”

    “Geetesh iz a brreederr,” he resumed. “a brrown brreederr.”

    “What kind of answer is that?”

    “Brrown brreederrs make darrk babieez.”

    Shocked, I decided to pursue the question that had been lingering in the back of my head.

    “Are you straight now or something?”

    “Alvayz have,” Geetesh puffed up his chest. “And हमेशा रहेगा.”

    Sitting on the bed, I felt like I had been hit by a train going at at least 50 miles per hour. I mean, this guy couldn’t have been serious, right? Was Jerry pulling some kind of prank on me to get back at the silicone injection? Jerry would never do something like that, but maybe I had finally pushed his experimentation limits too far. 

    Thinking I had lost not only my boyfriend but also my mind, a sudden thought darted to the front of my brain. In a moment of desperation, I hopped off the bed and ran over to the trash can. My running was a little staggered, but I blamed that due to the champagne earlier. Ruffling through the garbage, I snatched what I was looking for and read the details on the back of the empty ScrotamPlus package.

    “Made in India!” I shouted aloud, having a eureka moment. “Those stupid injections did this to you…”

    I turned to face Geetesh with an excited glee, but I was surprised to find only my pillow on the bed. Before I could even process the question, I felt a pair of thick, rough hands land on my shoulders. They steadied me out carefully; I hadn’t realized I had been swaying.

    “Doze grread injectionz imprroved me, and dey vill imprrove you doo.”

    It took a few moments for his sentence to translate itself into my head. Suddenly feeling vulnerable, I turned the ScrotamPlus package around in my hands. I unfortunately realized it hadn’t been empty before when I had thrown it out.

    “Did youuuu…” my words came out slurred as my eyelids began to droop.

    “Drrug you?” Geetesh asked as he delicately guided me forward. 

    I cursed the delicious champagne in my head as I was placed carefully onto the bed. With my body now horizontal, I felt Geetesh strip me of all my clothes. Even with my eyes barely open, I could still make out his looks of revulsion as he stripped a male body.

    Lying there, I became nervous as to what my future had for me. Was I going to become a mindless slave just like him? A “brown breeder”? I now understood the point of the second silicone base, as I was coming to figure out this had been the company’s plan all along. They must have thought they were so smart with their “2 for 1” plan. Yet, thinking over the procedure one last time, I realized there remained a forgotten element.

    “Youu… you can’t go throughh withh thissss.”

    Geetesh looked up from his task, a small patch on my balls aching from their recent shave.

    “Youu don’t have...” my voice wabbled. “another vial.”

    Geetesh gave a cocky grin as he showcased to me the original vial, except now it was full of the same white fluid as before.

    “Vat did you dink I vas doing ah day?”

    The final pieces finally clicked together in my head. Yes, Geetesh had been avoiding having sex with another man, but that was just a benefit of his main plan: trying to accumulate his resources for the largest deposit possible. 

    I felt Geetesh shove the needle into my testicles harshly, but the numbing agents and the drugs he’d given me in the champagne neutered the majority of the pain. The silicone filled me up quickly, giving my balls the exact same heavy feeling Jerry had described just 24 hours before. The needle pulled out swiftly, but my eyelids shut before I could watch Geetesh inject his own semen into my sac.

    Keeping Up with Old Friends (Redux)

    Hey guys! This masterpiece is a collab between myself and the wonderfully exquisite@callmecallmecrazy​. If you want to read the original “Keeping Up with Old Friends” and meet some of the characters mentioned here, make sure to go check them out immediately. 

    And as a warning, this is definitely one of my longer stories, so I hope you enjoy navigating through this journey.

    “Phil? Is that you?” Geoff could’ve sworn the man in front of him was an old classmate of his, having been lab partners their freshman year. The two had connected fairly well, with Geoff having hung out with the free-thinking, pot-smoking, curly-haired flower child a lot more than he thought he would. Except, scruffy and shaggy Phil was replaced with tailored-beard and straightened-locks Phil. Not only that, but his usual oversized hoodie and sweats had been replaced with a properly fit tee and jeans.

    “Geoff!  Hey man, how’s it going.” His voice was still the same lively and flamboyant pitch that it had always been. Phil met his friend in a hug over the cash register, squeezing Geoff a little harder than he had been prepared for.

    “Surprised to see you here,” Geoff half-joked, knowing that the old Phil would never come close to a shopping mall, let alone a department store. If the job wasn’t so easy and the pay wasn’t so good, Geoff wouldn’t have ever entered either. Too bad college was so expensive.

    “Ha! Yeah man, turns out they have some good stuff! Plus, it’s close to where I live.”

    “Oh, did you finally move out of the dorms?”

    “Yeah, I moved into the Kappa Sigma Alpha house.” The big smile he offered was met by a wide-eyed stare from Geoff. Phil was a free spirit, one who practically came out of the ‘60s. Last they’d talked, he’d been planning on living at an eco-friendly miniature house, certainly not at “prespter-prick incorporated”.

    “What happened to living green?”

    “Ya know, I wanted a change.” Phil shoved his hands into his pockets. “Plus, college loans are really bringing me down. I needed to save some money and fast. My uncle got me an in with the fraternity; he’s an alum.”

    “Aren’t they, like, totally pretentious?” Geoff countered. “We used to joke about those preppy freaks and their smug arrogance.” 

    Phil frowned, his expression made it seem as if he’d taken personal offense.

    “Hey man, they’re cool. After my uncle had pointed out that I was a legacy, I got headhunted by the rush chair.  I’m not one of those over-confident princes having yacht parties and spending time at the country club.” Geoff’s tense muscles eased a little, causing Phil to smile. “I don’t think they do that kinda stuff anymore anyway.”  

    He glanced at his phone, and then back at Geoff. Getting the message, Geoff quickly processed his items and had Phil pay. He was surprised to see Phil was buying more normal clothes. Cheap, standard tops and bottoms that were neither flamboyant or tame: just generic.

    “Hey man, great seeing you,” Phil concluded the conversation politely. “Maybe we’ll hang out sometime? I gotta get back to the house!”

    Geoff watched Phil walk out, noticing how well he filled out his jeans. The Phil he knew had been a short, skinny beanpole, similar to Geoff’s height but with less pudge. However, the new Phil’s buttocks had developed a sort of plumpness, just barely curving the pants out awkwardly as he walked away. 

    “That was so strange,” Geoff said aloud, but he assumed that people changed. Phil seemed happy and healthy, and as long as he was saving money Geoff was happy for him. Maybe he always wanted to join a frat?

    For the rest of his shift, Geoff continued thinking about the peculiar interaction, but by the end of the day he was too exhausted to think about anything. Once he had gotten back to his dorm, he lethargically changed and jumped into his bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

    — —

    “Phil? Is that you?” The big man standing in front of the counter didn’t exactly physically resemble Phil. He was fairly big at about 5 '10 (a few inches taller than Phil) and the Henley shirt he wore couldn’t hide the beginnings of bulging pecs. And his hair, last time uncoiled but still at shoulder-length, was sheared down, pushed up, and shiny from cheap gel. The face was still the same, even though the hair made his face look a little square.

    The young man looked back at Geoff confused for a moment before a tinge of understanding glittered in his eyes.

    “Geoff Elliot,” his voice was noticeably slower and deeper than last time. While Geoff went in for a hug, Phil replied with a one-armed embrace and pat on the back. He practically grimaced when Geoff attempted for more affection.

    “Phil! Man, it’s been awhile. I haven’t seen you since your last time here.”

    “Yes, Geoff, I’ve been very busy with school. And please, call me Phillip, it’s more traditional.”

    “Wow, still living with the Kappa Sigmas?”

    “Yes, I’ve been acquainting very well. What about you, Geoff?”

    “Oh ya know, I’m still in old Walker. It isn’t great, but it’s definitely got a sweet spot in the middle of campus.”

    “Living comfortably?”

    “Ha, you know I’m not.”

    “I can tell,” Phillip noted Geoff’s pale skin and tired eyes. Geoff was taken aback by the outright disdain.

    “Well, I’ve got to work if I want to get a degree.” Phillip just nodded, causing Geoff to carry the conversation. “You’re looking good. Do the Kappa Sigmas expect gym time?”

    “Yes,” Phillip's stern demeanor dropped a touch, allowing a bit more levity in his voice. “There’s an expansive gym at the country club. It’s free and they even give you a few hours a day to use it!” 

    He was practically giddy as he talked, allowing Geoff to relax a bit. This was the Phil he knew, chirpy and friendly though now not as exceptionally outgoing. And if Geoff was being honest, Phil seemed extremely content with his new situation. 

    “Have you picked up any sports? It seems like you’ve got the bod now,” Geoff joked, knowing that Phil hated physical activity. He playfully slapped one of Phil's broad shoulders and was shocked at how firm the muscle was.

    “I’ve been doing a lot of golf! I play with several of the other guys and even some of my uncle’s coworkers. I’m getting my handicap down too.”

    “Oh, you’re playing golf?” Geoff hadn’t expected an answer, but if one came he would’ve guessed football or baseball--not golf.

    “Yes, it’s very enjoyable. And great for business bonding. Chance for us men to talk about the frat, women, sports and the like. Say, you watch the game last weekend?”

    That was wholly unlike Phil, but Geoff guessed he was probably throwing himself into the fraternity world.

    “Nah, man, I’m not into basketball.”

    “It’s football season.” His reply was so direct and unvarnished that Geoff had to grip the counter for support. “I know not everyone is into the NFL, but I assumed you would at least watch like any other man. And our team is having an exceptionally great season. 4-0 in conference play.”

    Phillip kept talking about football as Geoff stared deep into his eyes. Was this really Phil? The guy used to pretend like he didn’t know what sports were. What was happening to him?

    “Anyway, Geoff, it’s been great catching up,” Phillip said, dumping his items onto the register. Geoff was surprised to notice that Phil was purchasing only name brand items. Not expensive, but not generic either. “Maybe we can grab some beers and watch a game sometime.” 

    Phillip hastily paid for all of his items and walked out. Geoff couldn’t help but notice the increasingly larger derrière. His buttocks had developed a shelf-like quality, curving the cheap khakis out as he walked away. Its slight jiggling motion was a stunning contrast to the hard muscle covering the rest of his body.

    “Yeah, great to see you Phil-lip,” Geoff forced out the last syllable. This was not the Phil he knew, but instead some dude named Phillip. Geoff continued on with the rest of his shift, the interaction slipping from his mind at the end of the day when he collapsed into bed.

    — —

    “Phil? Is that you? I mean, Phillip?” Geoff had hoped he wouldn’t see him again after their last encounter, but when he saw this barely-familiar-looking man his curiosity got the best of him. He told himself it was all in his head, but everything about these encounters were disturbing. Geoff wasn’t sure if it was steroids as his former buddy’s growth seemed extremely quick, but it could’ve just been the sudden makeover too. What was even crazier was the man next to him was somehow larger.

    This Phillip was 6’4 and wore a baby blue oxford button-up with a yellow and blue striped repp tie. The shirt looked ready to burst as it was tight against the two firm mounds sticking out of the young man’s chest. On top of the set was a two-button navy blazer with the letters KE on the left side, which Geoff assumed stood for Kappa Sigma. His hair was much different, for the overgrown shag was now neatly cut, with short sides and tapered across the crown. The ivy league was sharply parted on the left side and held sturdily in place by an expensive looking pomade. Not only had his hair transformed, but his face had undergone a dramatic change too. His jaw, formerly a little pointed and sharp, spread wide and hung low, giving his face a distinguished lantern shape to match his newly-cleft chin. 

    This Phillip stood ramrod straight while searching through a rack of new suits from Brooks Brothers. The man next to Phillip was older but otherwise nearly identical. He was thicker around the middle, but any gut he might have was hidden by the extremely high rise of his pants, sitting above his belly button just under the rib cage. His tie was black and grey with a subtle windowpane pattern, and his suit shared a similar palette.

    The other man stared at Geoff for a moment before tapping Phillip on the shoulder.

    “Pierson,” his voice was slow and deep. “I believe this boy is trying to get your attention.” 

    The younger man turned towards the counter to see Geoff. A faint bit of recognition crossed his face momentarily.

    “Geoff Elliot.” The voice was practically monotone, low and deep. He took a few powerful steps forward and offered a large, coarse handshake.

    “Uncle,” Phillip turned to face the older man. “This is a friend from college, Geoff Elliot. Geoff, this is my uncle.” He gestured robotically between the two. The uncle offered his hand and it was the same rough shake.

    “Nice to meet you...” Geoff sort of trailed off, hoping to get a first name.

    “John Howard Johnson.” The reply was colorless. “Mr. Johnson will do.”

    “Alright,” Geoff simply replied. “So, Phillip-”

    “Please call me Pierson,” Phillip said curtly. “My uncle thinks I would be better suited professionally as Pierson.” The way he spoke, extremely even in both rhythm and pitch, was unnerving.

    Geoff could make out some of Phil’s features in the hulking face before him. An upturned nose and naturally thin eyebrows over wide eyes resembled the Phil he knew. But the rest of the face clearly belonged to this cocky fratboy named Pierson.

    “Okay, Pierson. So, any news about Greek Life?”

    “I am very happy with the Kappa Sigmas. Life there is perfectly preppy.”

    “That’s great. Glad to hear you’re doing good!”

    “Yes, my uncle believes after college I will be an ideal candidate for his company, Hemplebaum Inc..”

    “That place downtown with office drones filling foreclosures and manipulating bank accounts?”

    “Correct,” Pierson stated blatantly.

    “Huh, okay.” Geoff was getting sick of this conversation, and of this act. There was obviously something going on here, so he decided to just ask about it flat out.

    “How long are you going to keep this up, Phil?”


    “Yeah, whatever,” Geoff retorted. He knew it probably wasn’t best to argue with customers during his shift, but this was more important than a job. “How are you willing to sell your soul to some frat? We used to joke about these guys! Can’t you see something is wrong?”

    “I’m offended by your tone, Geoff. And honestly,” he adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves while disgustingly eyeing Geoff’s uniform. “I grew up. You could do with some growing.”

    “You’ve grown into a mindless fratboy.”

    “And you, Geoff, are still a child. We ‘mindless fratboys’ are very well groomed and dressed. We speak with clarity and courtesy, and are diligent and helpful. We truly represent the apex of manhood.”

    “Pierson,” Mr. Johnson suddenly interrupted the argument. Pierson stiffened up and faced his uncle. “I’m glad you had this chance to catch up with your acquaintance, but we have wasted time.”

    “Of course, Uncle.” 

    They turned to leave, but Pierson swiftly reached into a blazer pocket and pulled out a thick black card. 

    “If you ever decide to grow up.” Pierson placed it on the register before he and his uncle left, giving Geoff a good look at their backsides. Despite the broad shoulders and bulging pectorals, both had a distinctly pear shaped body, with wide hips and massive butts that shook just a touch as they walked. Pierson’s rump was especially luscious, bouncing around inside those tight, pastel madras shorts. It gave Geoff a boner as he watched it wiggle. Sure, the man was the monster that replaced his old friend, but he had to admit the new douchebag look was kind of hot.

    Geoff grabbed the card from the counter and examined it. It was a thick card stock and slightly textured with the Greek letters obnoxiously large in one corner. Right in the middle read “Pierson Buckley Folsom VI,” infuriating Geoff. That was absolutely not his last name, in fact none of those were his names! Had he changed his entire personality to fit in with these people?  Had Phil been putting on a fake persona the entire time he was in college? Was this who he truly was? Geoff calmed himself down before reasoning that the name changing was a deeper sign. This whole thing had become so ridiculous he couldn’t just ignore it. He’d have to do some investigating.

    — —

    “This is Pierson Buckley Folsom VI.” 

    Geoff didn’t actually want to go through with his plan, but he had to make an attempt. If he could insert himself safely into this Pierson’s friend group, he might just be able to figure out what happened to Phil. Sure, Geoff wasn’t really built for the whole undercover thing, but he owed it to his old friend. Plus, Geoff knew if he let the matter sit, it would just continue to haunt him.

    “Hey, Pierson. This is Geoff.” 

    “Hello Geoff, how may I assist you?” He was already straight to the point.

    “Well, you know I was thinking about what you said back in the mall. Growing up and all that stuff.”

    “Ah,” Pierson’s stale voice came from the other end. “I assume you are interested in becoming a Kappa Sigma then?”

    “Yes.” Geoff swallowed before continuing, “I would like to become a Kappa Sigma.”

    “If that is so,” Pierson began monotonously. “We have a rush event this weekend at the Fenwick Greens Country Club. Come golfing this weekend, I know you will enjoy it.”

    “That sounds exciting!” It totally did not. He did not want to go to a rush event in the most posh, expensive neighborhood in the city. “What do I need to wear? I’m sure they have a dress code.”

    “Meet me at the Kappa Sigma house before. I will have appropriate clothing.”

    “Sounds good, thank you for your help, Pierson.”

    “You are welcome, Geoff.” 

    And just like that, the plan was in motion. This weekend, Geoff would be infiltrating enemy territory, so it was now time to do some research. He didn’t want to be suspicious, but as far as he could tell, the only person who thought something was amiss was him.

    — —

    The Kappa Sigma Alpha house was a well-built, classic home that looked like it belonged in Connecticut or somewhere else classy. The elegant mansion was extremely large, just like all of its brothers. It was so huge in fact that it had a room strictly dedicated for watching football, and that wasn’t even the media room! According to Pierson, there was a room with a movie projector on another floor. The football room was just a man cave according to him, except it was a sunlit, high-ceilinged game room. It was about five times bigger than the dorm Geoff was currently living in, which was only half the size of Pierson’s room.  

    When Pierson had answered the door, he was dressed in a full monochromatic suit. Geoff had expected something more casual, so he was wearing a faded pair of khakis and a plaid button-up. Geoff’s bulkier counterpart was intensely embarrassed by his attire and insisted he put on one of his old suits. Geoff thought about protesting, but instead allowed it. He fit quite well in it, as Pierson’s old suit was from Phil’s era. Geoff hated the whole dress-up ordeal, but he needed to fit in as much as possible, and to do that he would have to do everything Pierson said. 

    “Are we going golfing in suits?” Geoff asked innocently, unsure if they’d actually be participating in the sport.

    “That’s absurd!” Pierson remarked, his tone just barely leaving its usual flat level as he dodged the question. “We will be changing at the club.”

    Geoff couldn’t imagine how most people showed up dressed like this, but he would do whatever made Pierson comfortable. And apparently, the change had been necessary. After they got past the gate and into the main clubhouse, every man he passed had a tie on. Some of the brothers were already dressed in polos and khaki shorts, with the color of their outfits being the only way Geoff could figure out who was who. After Pierson had checked them in for the rush event, they headed to the lockers to change. Once the two had stripped, Pierson handed Geoff a small white piece of fabric. Geoff was horrified to find it was a pair of whitey-tighties, completely generic besides a tiny logo and a thin, blue line running through the band.

    “What,” Geoff asked. “Dude, seriously?”

    “All of us wear them,” Pierson blatantly stated, showing how he had stripped down to his own. Geoff had only noticed Pierson’s behind before, but now he took his chance to examine the whole body. Pierson was thick from below his pecs down to his butt, no real waistline. The holes for the legs in Pierson’s briefs clung tightly to his thighs, making the curve of his extremely wide buttocks stand out. His bulge was extremely pronounced too, pushing the briefs to their limit. Everything about Pierson was just so big nowadays, his proportions practically comic level. He looked good.

    Knowing he had to do it, Geoff quickly stepped into the briefs. The briefs made their way up both of his legs and finally began to engulf his private regions. He pulled the waistband up and let them sink into place. The bright, white fabric comfortably held his body from the tip-top of thighs to just above his pubic bush.

    “Let me help you with those.” 

    Pierson glided over to Geoff and dutifully pulled the briefs higher, a lot higher. Geoff’s belly button was now completely hidden, giving him a slight wedgie and his small package an even smaller moose knuckle. His flat bottom seemed more vertical than ever, and his 3-inch soft dick was nowhere near whatever Pierson was packing. Geoff should have been in pain, he should have been protesting, but something had subtly changed inside of him. The moment was deceptively erotic, something overly-personal but seemingly inconsequential that he was giving up to fit in. The look of disgust he originally had on his face had faded away, replaced with a simple, charming smile.

    With that done, Pierson handed Geoff some pink Bermuda shorts and a blue polo, each made of a stretchy and breathable material.

    “You sure these are mine?” Geoff asked, noticing that the sizes were much too large. “I’m not sure I’ll fit.”

    “I’m certain we’re the same size, Geoff.” Pierson replied, putting on his own set. The striped Hampton Lime polo he wore beautifully accentuated his pectoral shelf and--after being tucked into some tight cobalt Bermuda shorts--his blooming muscle gut. Geoff didn’t actually know the names of the hues, Pierson had strictly informed him beforehand. Pulled up to rest just below Pierson’s brief’s waistband, the shorts were held up by a fashionable belt that Geoff knew had a price tag with at least 3 digits. The shorts not only continued to advertise Pierson’s laughably large bottom, but also displayed powerful calves that looked as if they were stolen from a marble statue.

    Although Pierson was certain they were the same size, they most certainly were not. Geoff was not surprised when his outfit failed to fit. The belt he had barely kept the shorts from falling, and even though the shirt was tucked in, it still draped over him more like a curtain. Unlike the briefs that had fit perfectly, the clothes were meant for a man much larger than him. A fraternity brother.

    The final pieces were short, plain white socks and a pair of large golf shoes. Once again, Pierson had insisted the two were the same size, but Geoff knew his feet would never fit in the Size 14 giants. Even after tying the tightest knot he could, the shoes were still fairly roomy and loose, causing Geoff to focus intensely on every step in hopes of not tumbling over. Sighing in defeat, he noticed a small emblem on one of his socks, the same he had seen before on the briefs. He checked the other sock, and then also found it on his polo over the left breast. Deciding it couldn’t hurt, Geoff inquired about it.

    “I don’t think I recognize this brand,” he started. “Are we wearing Ralph Lauren?”

    “Not exactly,” Pierson replied, who had also finished getting dressed. “It’s a partner brand of Polo Ralph Lauren that made an exchange with the Carmichael Corporation. Apparently some financial deal.”

    “What is the Carmichael Corporation?”

    “They are an investing partner with Hemplebaum. The two often work together on acquisition projects. The event today is co-hosted by both companies. A lot of Kappa Sigma Alpha’s alum actually work at the companies, as the pair and the fraternity are continually functioning together. Almost like a cycle, I assume.” Pierson chuckled at that.

    “I see.” Geoff smiled at the new piece of evidence. Not only did he just find that a company was in on the ordeal, but three. There was definitely something peculiar about this “financial deal,” and whatever these Hemplebaum and Carmichael organizations were, they had to be behind the disappearance of Phil.

    The two then made their way out to the course. A plethora of young, muscular men and older counterparts were already golfing away, chatting merrily about subjects Geoff knew he had no interest in. Stocks and economical talk were topics that were unsurprisingly extremely boring. Pierson made sure to introduce as many people as he could as they walked along, and Geoff made sure to mentally write down each suspect in his head. 

    There was Yale Stockton Rockefeller IV from Carmichael, a man slightly older than the pair but identical in size and manner to Pierson. He was wearing a violet polo, docksiders, and light gray madras shorts. Then there was Henderson Harold Hearst from Hemplebaum; he shared the same age and exaggerated proportions with Pierson’s uncle, Mr. Johnson, who was also there. He was wearing a white sports polo, black golf cap, and a pair of golf trousers that somehow expanded over his massive thighs, showing off Mr. Hearst’s thick trunks and amble, jiggly buttocks that pressed generously backwards. 

    There were a plethora of other businessmen that were also introduced to Geoff along the way. Keating Eckley Whitlyn, Jr. from Carmichael; Emerson Foley Gillingham-Smyth from Carmichael; Rotterham Casper Cornelius Southard from Hemplebaum; John Millard Koehler III from Carmichael. All the titles and accentuated names made Geoff’s head want to explode, but he hadn’t even met a quarter of the populus yet. There were still all the Kappa Sigma boys with names like Thurston F. Walbridge IV, Wyndham Judge Kilbourn V, and Hunt Johnstonbough. Geoff couldn’t understand how people remembered all of these obsessive, extensive, and money-grubbing men and their names. All of the businessmen and fraternity brothers were just a bunch of wealthy blockheads.

    A sharp, static shock zipped inside of Geoff’s high-waisted briefs, causing him to pause momentarily. The shock sent a signal up his anus and tickled his prostate ever so slightly. In his head, Geoff immediately reevaluated his previous thoughts. These men weren’t obsessive, they were just clean-cut and well-maintained. And their names weren’t extensive and money-grubbing, they were traditional, conservative, and sumptuous. These corrections brought a cordial smile to Geoff’s face. Only now noticing he had stopped walking, Geoff jogged to catch back up to Pierson, causing his slightly-larger buttocks to gingerly bob.

    As they walked out onto the course, golf bags strapped across their backs, Geoff could see a tall figure in the distance seeming to greet them with a small wave. Pierson returned the gesture amiably.

    “Who’s that?”

    “Prescott Neilson Powers IV. I invited him to play with us. Prescott is the Kappa Sigma rush chair. ”

    “You invited the rush chair?”

    “Prescott, yes. He’s been a close friend since I attended preparatory school, you should know that, Geoff.”

    Geoff did not know this, as Pierson hadn’t existed less than a semester ago.

    “I thought you would get on quite well. Besides, he’s on good terms with many important people. If you want to join the fraternity brotherhood, no one is a better connection.”

    Prescott was in stretchy plum-colored golf trousers, a ballcap with the KE logo sitting proudly on the front, and a smoky-gray polo exactly like the ones they were wearing. Geoff had a bit of a shock realizing how much Prescott looked like Pierson. His body filled out the polo tremendously with broad shoulders, baseball-like biceps, and a thick but strong core. He also had that overly-wide posterior that led into legs and calves formed by deadlifts and deep squats. His hair--which was sheared down into a practically flat bit of black hair, shiny and parted--was the only noticeable difference between the two, but otherwise Geoff might have mistaken the two for brothers or cousins.

    “Greetings!” Prescott shook Pierson’s hand and pulled him in for a pat on the back. For his part, Pierson tensed up a bit but did not resist.

    “Prescott Neilson Powers IV, this is Geoffrey Elliot. We had few classes together last year, and now he is interested in rushing.” Before Geoff could correct the error of his name, Prescott grabbed him into a similar handshake-to-hug.

    “Pleasure to meet you, Geoffrey,” Prescott said calmly. “Well, let’s play.”

    “Are we taking the cart?” Geoff asked, pointing to a line of white, polished golf carts. He really didn’t want to walk around the entire course. He hadn’t exerted that amount of physical energy since high school gym.

    “Of course not!” Prescott and Pierson chortled before Prescott continued. “I'd figure us three needed to work less on our glutes and more cardio!” Prescott then reached out and gave both Pierson and Geoff hard butt slaps. Geoff wanted to object, but a momentarily jarring jolt from his briefs once again silenced him.

    “We all know this will not be enough to alleviate that problem,” Pierson quipped as they made their way to the first hole. Geoffrey completely forgot what he was thinking about and followed with a polite smile, his shorts now tighter against his inflated rump.

    Prescott was extremely friendly and a little physical. Upon learning that Geoffrey had never golfed, Prescott took it upon himself to teach him everything he could, resulting in him saddling up behind him to correct stance and form, but also jokingly pressing his crotch into Geoffrey’s butt and thrusting. The boys all laughed at the horseplay, with Geoffrey nervously trying to hide his boner. If he wanted to fit in around these traditional, conservative men, he’d have to be a lot more careful. Luckily, his member had softened before anyone noticed, returning to its previous 4-inches soft.

    Geoffrey had a hard time hating Prescott and the Kappa Sigma brothers. Taking away all the pomp of politics and social structure, Prescott seemed to be an incredibly friendly alpha; the kind of guy who would be quarterback, homecoming king, and class president (all things Geoffrey learned Prescott was). Geoffrey began to recognize that all the Kappa Sigma, Carmichael, and Hemplebaum men had so many things in common. There were so many things about them that Geoffrey really liked. They were gorgeously male and embodied masculine sophistication. They were groomed and cleaned, polite and cheerful. They were such ideal men, what Pierson had called “perfectly preppy”.

    “My girlfriend will literally do anything I ask, that’s how dedicated she is to me!” Prescott bragged in a slow but still gloating voice.

    “She was always into you,” Pierson added.

    “Yes, sir. Her dad’s super rich, one of the department managers at the Carmichael Corporation. He’s inundated with old money. But what about you?” Prescott got a mischievous glint as his eyes located Pierson’s crotch. “Are you getting those fellows ready? It is almost breeding season.”

    “What does that mean?” Geoffrey inquired.

    “Pierson Buckley Folsom VI here is getting married.”

    “Congratulations!” Geoffrey replied enthusiastically, forgetting that Pierson hadn’t had a partner less than a month ago.

    “Thank you. We’re finishing some final details; her mother is very specific. Sometimes, she acts as though I’m unworthy.”

    “She cannot do better,” Prescott assured.

    “She is a perfectly suitable spouse. I am very pleased with the situation,” Pierson affirmed before setting up his shot and launching the ball.  He let out a whistle of appreciation as it landed in the green just a few feet away from the hole.

    “Good shot,” Prescott and Geoffrey said simultaneously. Geoffrey hadn’t noticed his voice was beginning to imitate the other two’s, as it was now a little deeper and even-handed.

    “Geoffrey, I know it’s late notice, but I hope you can at least attend the wedding. The club has strict guest limits and I’m running out of passes for nonmembers for the bachelor party.”

    “Thank you, Pierson. I’m sure I can make it.”

    Geoffrey didn’t want to attend for investigative purposes however, he just wanted to support his close friend Pierson.

    “And if you join the fraternity and get your membership before, you can enjoy all the heterosexual fun.” Prescott winked at Geoffrey and snagged a nipple that was now stiffly pressed out from the polo. Geoffrey had somehow not felt the weight of his upper body before as he walked, as his chest now stuck out and increased his height by a few inches. Geoffrey should’ve cared more about his enlarged torso, but for some reason walking around with pecs straining a polo felt incredible, like a huge dose of testosterone had been injected into him.

    After a few more rounds, the trio decided to take an intermission and head back to the club. The main ballroom at the Fenwick Greens country club was a lively place stocked with booze and many other pompous and colossal-sized men. Before Geoffrey could figure out what was going on, Pierson and Prescott were already removing the caps from a collection of glass bottles and pouring multiple glasses full of amber liquid.

    “Come on, sit,” Prescott instructed, slapping Geoffrey’s bottom before taking a seat. Originally, Geoffrey had intended on asking some analytical questions and refusing the drinks, but after a quick agonizing wince he discovered he didn’t want to upset his new friends, or the financial connections they represented. Taking a big swig of the liquid, he sat down in the chair, his increasingly wide and plump behind consuming nearly ¾ths of the extra wide seat.

    “You’re getting pretty good at the trap shot, Pierson Buckley Folsom VI, ” Prescott toasted Pierson.

    “You’re still better, Prescott Neilson Powers IV,” Pierson was already refilling his drink happily. The trio continued chatting until Pierson eventually excused himself to the toilet, leaving Geoffrey alone with a man he thought would have been detestable. But this afternoon was fun. He got a small knot in his stomach as Prescott turned to him with a viperous grin.

    “Geoff? Geoff Elliot?” Prescott suddenly said, dropping his voice low. Geoffrey was confused for a moment, as he hadn’t thought of himself as Geoff in a while. It was almost shocking, but then he cautiously nodded yes.

    “Please, call me Geoffrey, Prescott.”

    “Oh, I will, Geoffrey,” he emphasized the name. “You look good, and I have to admit I was wrong about you, Geoffrey. When Pierson had said he had invited you, I did not think you would make it. But here you are: willing and able, and looking much better with the muscles might I add. These clothes have done wonders for you.”

    “Thank you, Prescott. I am very happy spending time with the Kappa Sigma men and the alumni.” Prescott nodded and smiled as the robotic words left Geoffrey’s mouth. Geoffrey had been content with his answer, but he hadn’t processed the real meaning behind Prescott’s comment. Absentmindedly scratching his calf, he should’ve been surprised by the amount of fur that caught in his grip. It also should have shocked him how firm his muscles felt; the thick, robust quads and strong, sculpted forelegs now filled his salmon shorts appropriately. They were also helped by his waist, which had expanded out both in the pelvic and gluteal regions.

    “I like having my fellow fraternity brothers around. It is truly a real lifetime bond, care to agree?” Geoffrey nodded as Prescott took another deep swig. “Something that really defines a man: who he is and who he’s going to be.” 

    Prescott then seemed to stare at Geoffrey curiously. For his part, Geoffrey had no idea what to say, and so stayed silent. “If I’d known this is who you were going to be, I’d have made sure you were my brother a long time ago. Of course, I knew Geoff, but not Geoffrey. Not big, strapping Geoffrey.”

    “Yes,” Geoffrey stirred his glass and sat there.

    “And I still have yet to meet whom you will become. You still have a ways to go until you have finished.”


    “The rush event, of course. You did not think it was over, did you? It is only a quarter past one you jester!” Prescott then grabbed Geoffrey’s head and gave him a playful noogie. The respectable man’s knuckles drove apart Geoffrey’s hair, causing the slightly-greasy afro to spill out a little more.

    “Your hair has been a little off today,” Prescott noted. “Did you use enough pomade this morning?”

    “Yes,” Geoffrey confirmed. “I believe I did.” He fixed his hair precariously, making sure all the edges were still held together like a helmet. Geoffrey liked his textured ivy league cut chipper yet sharp, just like the fine fellows of Kappa Sigma Alpha.

    “Now, Geoffrey, what do you think Geoffrey is like in college?”

    “I’m Geoffrey.”

    “Correct, but these past few semesters you have not been. I just wonder what you wish you had done?”

    “I wish I’d attended more sports games. I love football, and enjoy playing tennis and golf.” The answers had been installed in his head without him knowing.


    “I’d want to have a group of men to watch sports with,” Geoffrey added.

    “Indeed, every game we have an event at the house.” 

    Geoffrey stared at him with glassy eyes. He was confused. It seemed like Prescott wanted him to say something, but he could only shrug.

    “Would have been nice.”

    “I do hope you apply for the fraternity. The brotherhood would be a good fit for you.”

    “I’ve really enjoyed myself so far,” Geoffrey admitted. “And the prospect of living in the manor is tantalizing.”

    “Where are you living nowadays?”

    “I have a dorm in Walker. It’s a heap, but I live alone.”

    “Have you thought about living with other men? Such ideal, perfectly preppy men?”

    “What?! No, I haven’t, I mean..” Geoffrey sputtered a little, not considering that factor in his infiltration plan. It seemed like a dream, to be surrounded by so many gaudy, haughty, and sexy men. After a momentary painful shudder, Geoffrey realized he would love to be surrounded by so many prosperous, presumptuous, and handsome brothers. Of course, his definition of handsome was a man who was traditional, well-heeled, and physically attractive to women. Geoffrey believed that men ought to align themselves to the only orientation, one where his 5-inch soft dick didn’t get aroused to the thought of other gentlemen.

    “I’m not sure it’s right for me,” Geoffrey announced truthfully, authorizing a smirk from Prescott.

    “It’s right for Geoffrey. For football-playing, fraternity brother, corporate shark Geoffrey.” Prescott smiled and got up from the table, ushering Geoffrey to follow him.

    “If you become a brother, either the Carmichael Corporation or Hemplebaum will pay off your student debt as long as you work a year-long internship with them after you graduate. I can set you up.”


    “I always support my Kappa Sigma Alpha brothers.” His impish grin was the only signal Geoffrey had before another blow to his bottom. After a little excruciating twitch, Geoffrey returned to reality, his voluminous buttocks still vibrating as they had now accumulated a soft layer of fat that made him even wider.

    “Kappa Sigma Alpha, brothers strong, brothers long. Four years forged the lifetime bond!”  Prescott chanted and stared at Geoffrey. Geoffrey hesitated, but his mind wanted it so bad. He wanted Prescott to like him, to be his brother. Geoffrey wanted to be one of the classy, dashing brothers.

    “Kappa Sigma Alpha, brothers strong, brothers long. Four years forged the lifetime bond.”  Prescott smiled as Geoffrey repeated the stanza back to him. Pierson then showed up a moment later from behind them.

    “What did I miss?”

    “Just the rushing of our newest member here!”

    “Newest member?” Pierson replied excitedly. “You are going to become a brother, Geoffrey?”

    “I must!” Geoffrey replied eagerly. He wanted to become one of these perfectly preppy brothers, which kind of went against his reason for coming here in the first place. But, why was he here again? Was it not to be rushed? For some reason, Geoffrey felt like he was forgetting something, but it didn’t bother him enough to dwell on it. Any inappropriate memory of infiltration or distaste had been sapped from his increasingly cordial mind.

    “That makes me so elated!” Pierson exclaimed. “Let us go find my uncle then, that way we can have him officiate the necessary forms.”

    “If I can have a moment,” Geoffrey paused the celebration. “I would like to use the restroom.”

    “Well…” Pierson hesitated.

    “Of course!” Prescott gave a reassuring glance to Pierson, although Geoffrey didn’t know why. “Around the corner over yonder and then westbound. We will go retrieve Mr. Johnson while you alleviate.”

    “My gratitude.” Not only had Geoffrey’s tone adopted the same deep, flat, and robotic tone, but his vocabulary slowly became much more sophisticated. As he strolled over to the restroom, Geoffrey now felt the weight of his body as he walked. He hadn’t noticed before, but he had settled out around 6’3 thanks to his extended limbs. His newly broadened shoulders filled out his dark periwinkle polo nicely. They made him feel like he took up the entire doorway as he entered the lavatory, and his big, wide stride made his butt and crotch kind of wiggle as he walked. He could feel the fabric of his salmon shorts tighten around his balls and release, then tighten on the other side. It was mildly arousing.

    After taking a hearty leak, Geoffrey pulled his briefs back up above his belly button. It was deceptively erotic, something overly-personal but seemingly inconsequential that he was giving up to fit in. And that’s what he wanted after all, to fit in. Why be unique and different when one could be conventional, classical, and consistent? That’s why he had come here in the first place, because he wanted to be like these men. Geoffrey wanted to be a Kappa Sigma, and after that work at either the Carmichael Corporation or Hemplebaum.

    Washing his hands in the sink, Geoffrey looked up and was very pleased to see the extremely handsome young man in front of him. He filled out his clothes almost to the point of bursting, from the Size 14 golf shoes to the Philadelphia blue polo. As he admired his form in the mirror, Geoffrey couldn’t help but brush the smooth-shaved line of his prominent jaw. He really could swear that his face had been almost heart-shaped, but now there was a distinctly hexagonal shape to the thing. Geoffrey was practically a hypermasculine parody: low brow, big nose, and wide jaw with a gigantic cleft chin: just like all the other men here.

    Once he had finished appreciating his form, he exited the restroom and found Pierson, Preston, and Mr. Johnson all chatting merrily. When they noticed his entrance, they immediately turned to allow him into the conversation.

    “What can I do for you, Geoffrey?” Mr. Johnson asked. Geoffrey tried to find a concise answer for that question, but found that impossible.

    “I want to become a Kappa Sigma and eventually work at the Carmichael Corporation or Hemplebaum. I want every piece of advice you can give me.”

    “Why is that?” Mr. Johnson was suppressing a smug smile though Geoffrey didn’t notice.

    “I want to be just like you. And Pierson Buckley Folsom VI. And Prescott Neilson Powers IV. And all the men here at Fenwick Greens.”

    “Enjoy the event?”

    “Immensely. I belong here with these kinds of men. I want to move into the Kappa Sigma Alpha house, not live in some pathetic university building.” He cast a disgusted look before continuing.  “I want to become an alumni and work under the Carmichael Corporation or Hemplebaum.”

    Mr. Johnson smiled. “So, Geoffrey, are you willing to fully commit yourself to the Kappa Sigmas?”

    “I am, sir,” he replied like a soldier.

    “Excellent. Well, I can proudly say you are approaching the physical standards. Let me address one concern.” Mr. Johnson carefully moved his massive arm behind Geoffrey and patted his buttocks gently. Geoffrey didn’t react as a gentle sting pulsated his prostate and a charming smile adorned his face. Mr. Johnson’s hand moved away to reveal an enormous rump identical to the others’, one thick with muscles underneath but concealed underneath a spongy layer of fat. With the salmon Bermuda shorts now tight against his behind, the crotch of his shorts were pulled tight into a prominent moose knuckle, also showcasing his 7-inch soft dick.

    “Yes, that is more appropriate.”

    “Thank you, sir.”

    “Now, there is a rather large change that I believe is a necessity for your progression into the Kappa Sigmas as well as your new social circle.”

    “What is that sir?”

    “Your name, it is just too common and destitute. You agree?” Geoffrey snapped back confirmation even though it made his head spin. “Personally, I have always been very fond of names associated with old money.”

    “You want me to change my last name?” Geoffrey asked, slightly confused.

    “Not exactly. Your entire name will have to be reformed.”

    “My entire name?”

    “Well, I thought you wanted to succeed.”

    “Yes sir.” “So you want to change your name. What do you think would work?”

    “I don’t know, sir.”

    “So you want my help, is that what you are saying?” The words were coming so fast and Mr. Johnson’s eyes were so enticing that Geoffrey nodded.

    “Yes sir, please tell me what my name should be.”

    Mr. Johnson crossed his arms over his shelf of pecs, clearly relishing in the moment even though Geoffrey had no idea why.

    “This is my favorite part.” Geoffrey didn’t say anything, as his superior clearly didn’t want him to.  And he’d just asked for help so there was no need to say anything. “It’s a great moment, when you realize you want to be whatever I want you to be.” 

    Mr. Johnson ceremoniously pulled a form out of his suit pocket and presented it to Geoffrey. “This is your fraternity contract. You don’t need to bother with the details. Just sign your name.“

    In very literal terms, Geoffrey would be singing away his life. The fraternity, the proud men of Kappa Sigma, and all of the alumni who worked at the Carmichael Corporation and Hemplebaum were now permanently immune from any legal repercussions. Of course, there never would be, as they had plenty of experience in this sort of thing.

    Geoffrey was about to sign, but he noticed a different name was listed on the contract.

    “It is supposed to be made out by Godfrey Larimer Elverton Jr.?”

    “A name I believe will fit you suitably.” Mr. Johnson offered a pen to Geoffrey and gave a conceited smirk. “Just sign.”

    The order immediately processed through Geoffrey’s brain, bringing a clubby smile to his face as he wrote out his new signature. Once he had finished, Mr. Johnson took the contract back and made his way to the ballroom stage. He signaled for Geoffrey to follow him.

    “Hello?” Mr. Johnson tested a mic, his lifeless bass resonant across the room. “I would like to request every man’s attention please.”

    Geoffrey watched on as all the men in the room turned to look their way. So many masculine men dressed to the tens in lavish suits and colorful polos. They were all so refined, so perfectly preppy.

    “I would like to announce our first success of the annual Kappa Sigma Alpha rush event: the newest man of Kappa Sigma, Godfrey Larimer Elverton Jr.!”

    The crowded room burst into a controlled round of applause. Godfrey felt giddy, proud to become a part of this fine organization. After the room had calmed down, Mr. Johnson and Godfrey rejoined Pierson and Prescott. They continued a fascinating discussion about budgetary and monetary issues, as a recent Hemplebaum acquisition of an old theatre downtown had created quite a profit. Godfrey felt right as home, as if he had always meant to be a Kappa Sigma. He instantly embraced his new role in life and quickly was accepted as a full brother by the other men.

    The rest of the day went by pretty quickly. After Godfrey, there were eight other boys who were rushed into the Kappa Sigmas. Godfrey didn’t realize that at the beginning of the day, these boys had all been exactly like him: crude, coarse, and shoddy. In fact, Godfrey didn’t realize that he had been like that at all. His memories had slowly shifted, causing him to remember a wealthier upbringing, one where he had pampered and shaped to become a Kappa Sigma man over the last 21 years.

    “To be frank,” Pierson started as they made their way back out to the first hole. “I did not foresee you transitioning so fast, let alone becoming the first pledge of the day.”

    “You should recognize that I have been training for this my entire life,” Godfrey replied sternly.

    “Oh, I do,” Pierson conceded. “But I will need some testament to that claim. Four strokes is par.”

    Godfrey turned to Pierson and gave a broad, bland smile.

    “Pierson Buckley Folsom VI,” he declared with a club in his hand. “I’ll only need one.”


    How do you feel about religion change, especially when paired with gay to straight? I like when guys in your story become conservative Christians.

    How do I feel about it? I absolutely adore religious changes. It pairs naturally with stereotypical gay-to-straight, so I find it a very fun topic to work with.

    I have written a lot of Christian stories on here, but I definitely think one of my most unique is Proselytize. If you haven’t already, it’s definitely a different tf than you may be used to, so go check it out.


    Make sure you’re writing what YOU want to write and not what other people want you to. Nothing makes a story hotter than the writer being passionate when writing it

    Oh, of course random anon! As I’ve mentioned before, I only like to write stories that I want to write, that’s why my blog is filled with random kinky content.

    But as long as you bring this up, this should be made into a public announcement. As all of you readers have hopefully heard a billion times by now, we writers are not your writers. Yes, we create stories you like and yes, sometimes an author will go through with a request sent in--but this isn’t always the case. 

    Make sure you treat your favorites writers with respect because not only are they doing this out of the kindness of their hearts, but they have the courage to share their work with you. It’s a hard, strenuous process, so please thank them for their work and for distributing it to the public.


    hey! Just wanna say, your stories are super cool, and my favorite one is Like Father Like Son, with Proselytize overtaking it some days. Then again, your preppy stories are great as well...but anyways, I hope you’re doing alright! Thanks for the great tf content!

    Aww thanks random anon! I’m doing just fine, and I hope you’re doing just as good ;)


    How do you like sock fetish stuff? Like sniffing/wearing one's smelly socks and tfing into a hunk with large and sweaty feet. I remember you did a sock triggered tf story, that's hot. Also like father like son involved similar stuff as well, kinky but super erotic. Pity the son didn't remain the fetish, I even believed it was the father's hidden inner desire. LOL

    Socks are 100% sensual, I absolutely adore them. As I’ve already mentioned, feet are a very important factor of my stories, so that would naturally involve socks too. 

    I’ve had a set of pictures locked and loaded for a sock tf a LONG time now, so maybe I should get on writing that story...


    In regards to the post about a kpop transformation, I totally get your issues with celebrity tf. It definitely has its own set of rules to follow to be good. That said, is it possible for you to make up your own? Just have a guy become a made up kpop idol? I’ve read enough manwha to know just making up idol groups is a thing lol.

    Oh yeah, I could definitely write about a made-up kpop idol. Plus, I could make him exactly how I would want him to be. The fact that this question is getting so much attention means I might have to give a crack at it *wink wink*

    On a side note, great to see you back! Hope we all get the pleasure of reading your stories again soon.


    Any thoughts on gay-to-straight content? I enjoy it but sometimes feel bad and I find it very hard to write without feeling like I've crossed a line. I think you do it well for the record but it's definitely a hefty topic.

    I think gay-to-straight content is super hot, but I definitely believe it is a kink that not everyone has. I enjoy writing it because I know it’s something I fantasize about sometimes, but I do not take it seriously. It’s all for fun; it is so absurdly erotic that it is humorous. 

    I understand if you have a hard time writing about it because it does feel a little off. But remember, you aren’t writing it like you’re creating a declaration, it is more like political satire. It’s deceptively arousing, just like when straight guys do things that are considered “homosexual” with each other. 

    As long as you are not explicitly stating that going gay-to-straight is better and what is right in society, than I don’t think there is anything wrong about writing on the topic sardonically.


    Just have to say, if and when you bring back Hotel Korea, a character with Chul Soon as his likeness would obliterate me 🤤 Would love to know, who are some of your favorite Korean hunks? Loving your recent stories, bro!

    Some of my favorite Korean hunks? First off, all of the men that you’ve seen in my stories as references. Some of my all time favorites would also have to be Bae Jang Ah, Won Bin, and Gong Yoo.


    Hi there! Saw your post and wanted to throw you a few questions! Was there any media (books/tv/film) that woke you up to TF fiction/ TF interest? What were they? Do you remember the first intentionally made TF story you read? Do you have a favorite TF story or TF story universe from another author/site? If you could choose the basic TF premise or plot of a big budget studio movie, what would it be, and who would you cast? Thanks for writing so much quality content!

    Wow, this is one loaded question.

    Firstly, this is kind of embarrassing, but I discovered my tf interest from a children’s cartoon. If anyone had ever seen Wakfu, there’s an episode where all the men turn into giant, dumb apes. Unusual (yeah I know) but that was it.

    The first tf site I ever came across was @musclelover4826 a few years ago. A lot of their stories from years ago hold a special place in my heart. It was there that I found a community of people with similar interests to mine.

    I don’t think I have a favorite story, but some of my favorite universes are the ones I’ve worked on with @sjw-publishings and @callmecallmecrazy. My Hotel Korea stories have been pretty fun too. :)

    And a big budget movie, that’s a question I don’t have a thought-out answer for. I guess off the top of my head, I’d want a slow-burn manipulation movie, something where the hero slowly succumbs to the villain without ever realizing it. I would love both a physical transformation as well as a mental one. As for the cast, the hero would probably be Henry Cavill or Sam Claflin, and the villain would definitely be a silver fox like John Slattery.


    Do you have any stories on the plan? Or what themes would you like to use in the next few stories? And do you have interest in doing another feet mainly focusing tf story? They are so hot😤

    I always have a few drafts under my sleeve. I also have a plethora of photo references with story ideas, but it takes some time to get the effort to write them. As for themes, you’ll probably see more preppy tfs in the near future, but I can’t say after that.

    For all my stories, you will always see some mention of feet because your right, they are so hot. Trust me, I know how erotic foot growth/shrink is, so that element will always be in my writing.


    You like kpop and can you imagine to White a story about it? Maybe to turn an white guy into an hot male k-idol?

    I love kpop! I only got into it a few years ago, but I’ve been obsessed with it since. I mean, come on, have you seen those Korean men?

    Would I ever write a story about them though, that’s a question I tend to shy away from. If you haven’t noticed already, my blog doesn’t really have any celebrity tf’s. I’ve always been nervous about those because people expect a certain standard, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to meet them. That’s why I make up my own characters (most of the time), because than I can control who they are and who they will become.

    But again, kpop boy bands are mouthwatering...