Tumblr Source : @thb671

Is this too much cleavage for school?

(who's that gay?)

Creamy white skin tanned to a golden glow - Let the beast out

Brochella

Focusing half his attention on the road and the other half on his phone, Jerry ignored the beeps and honks of fellow drivers while haphazardly weaving his giant truck through the traffic as he attempted to type up a text.

"u still waitingat teh entrancse?" Jerry managed to make a somewhat coherent message. Within seconds the phone in his hand vibrated as he received a reply.

"Yeah. Let's meet by security. I'm on my way there."

"ok omw" Jerry wrote back, tossing his phone to the empty passenger seat as he focused his gaze back to the road.

Jerry was on his way to a music festival where he was to meet up with his buddies. They'd all been looking forward to the event for months. The only problem was that Jerry had promised to score them tickets and as he was right now, he was about to arrive empty handed. Each wave of tickets to the event had sold out within minutes so Jerry was forced to attempt to haggle with scalpers he found online, but every single one he reached out to asked for ridiculous prices, definitely more than what he could afford.

Jerry had nearly given up hope in attending, until the day before he stumbled across a post on Craigslist from a guy named Charlie. Charlie had supposedly planned on attending the festival with his own group of friends but a series of last minute cancellations meant having to quickly get rid of several tickets without having money go to waste. That resulted in having to sell them at a somewhat reasonable price, and luckily Jerry was quick enough to reach out to where Charlie had agreed to hold the tickets for him.

Jerry eventually reached the parking lot of the venue. He combed through the lot until he found some empty spaces, but as he got closer he’d find that some guys had set up chairs and were holding those coveted parking spaces. Jerry was about to blow a gasket as that was the only free space he’d been able to find. Pulling up to the guys, Jerry’s rage turned to relief as he identified the men as his buddies.

Jerry rolled down his window. “Fuckers." He greeted the guys. "I was about to come beat your asses." He teased. "Let me park here."

The guys moved their things, allowing Jerry to park his truck.

"So did you get them?" One of the men asked.

"Don't tell us you made us come all the way here for nothing." Another one joined in.

"Chill the fuck out. I'm supposed to meet the guy here." Jerry tried to reassure the group. "He said he'd hold 'em for me."

"Just make sure they're legit."

"Yeah, I don't wanna be caught with fakes."

"If they end up being bogus, you're gonna pay me back what I gave you."

The guys chimed in, expressing their concerns about the possibility of being scammed out of their money.

"I won't let the dude out of my sight until I know they're good." Jerry checked his pockets, making sure he had the cash with him. "Wait here, I'll be back in a bit."

Jerry headed out and walked towards the entrance to the venue, looking for the spot where he was supposed to meet with Charlie. Passing by crowds of festival goers, he'd notice that several of them had fluorescent green wristbands on, possibly something he figured came with the tickets allowing people to enter and leave the festival grounds. Eventually, Jerry arrived at a tent near the entrance with a sign that read "SECURITY." He pulled out his phone, texting Charlie to let him know that he was at their meet up spot.

Almost ten minutes had passed and Jerry still had not received a response. He had begun to think that Charlie had sold the tickets to someone else. That he had been screwed over by this guy. Pulling out his phone to text Charlie again, Jerry felt a slight tapping on his shoulder.

"Would you be Jerry by any chance?"

Jerry turned around to face the person, immediately noticing a man standing besides him. He looked the guy up and down, blonde, no taller than 5'10'' but moderately built with a slender figure. Jerry realized who it was, taking note that if there was any shady business, he'd be more than capable of dealing with the guy himself.

"Yeah that's me. You're Charlie?"

"Yup! Sorry for taking so long." Charlie held his phone up. "I was rushing to get here, just saw your text as I was running over."

"No worries." Jerry paused for a moment as an awkward silence filled the air between them. "So, uh, you got the tickets?"

"Oh.. yes, yes!" Charlie pulled out a manilla folder from the backpack he had been carrying, opening it up and checking its contents, making sure everything was there. "There's four day-passes in here."

Charlie handed the folder over to Jerry who quickly glanced inside the folder to make sure he was getting what he was paying for. "Ok, looks like everything's here." Jerry grinned, passing the envelope of cash to Charlie. "Pleasure doin' business."

Charlie counted the money as he smiled back. "Likewise. Hope you have fun." Once he made sure he had the payment in full, he placed the envelope in his bag. "I'm assuming you're attending with some friends?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah. Some guys I've known for some years. They've been houndin' me non-stop about getting tickets, so thanks again." Jerry reached inside the folder and pulled out a ticket, noticing that each one had come with a colored wristband. What peaked his interest however was the color of the wristbands.

"Hey, is there a reason these are yellow?" Jerry held out the fluorescent neon yellow-colored wristband in front of Charlie. "Every other one I've seen people wear are green."

"Oh? These are VIP passes." Charlie smiled. "They let you get closer to the stages, discounts on food and merch, among other things. I thought I had told you that, I'm sorry."

"Oh shit, really?!" Jerry said excitedly.

"Yeah, I really needed to sell them ASAP though. That's why you got them at the price we agreed on. So consider yourself lucky." He laughed. "Here, let me put it on you. Those things are tricky to put on by yourself." Charlie volunteered to put the wristband on Jerry while Jerry was still too stoked to really say anything about it.

"There we go. They're a little tight, sorry, but your arms are kinda huge." He laughed again.

Jerry held out the wristband in front of him. There was a hint of a sheen to it when hit by the lights but he thought nothing of it.

"So I guess I'll see you around. Thanks again for taking these off of me. I really appreciate it." Charlie waved goodbye as he headed off, eventually getting lost in the crowd. Now alone, Jerry took out his phone and texted his boys that he was coming back with a surprise.

As Jerry left the security tent and began walking in the direction of where his friends were waiting, he immediately felt a strong rumbling in his stomach. "Jesus Christ." Noticing a row of porta-potties off to the side, he beelined it straight to the first available one.

Entering the cramped space, the aching feeling in Jerry's stomach quickly subsided. Instead, what caught his attention was the wristband he had just put on. There was a shine emanating from it which he thought was strange considering he was now indoors and there were no lights to reflect off of it.

Suddenly, the space around him began to spin, and Jerry felt a strange sensation coursing through his body, originating from the wristband. At first, he thought it was just his imagination, but then he realized that something was indeed happening to him.

Jerry looked down at his hands and saw them start to shrink and change shape. His thick, muscular arms grew thinner and leaner, and his broad chest began to narrow, causing the tank top he had been wearing to become much more loose fitting, eventually just coming off completely. The slight beer gut he sported suddenly disappeared, as his midsection flattened, revealing rows of abdominals. His monstrous legs followed suit, with his thighs losing most of their mass, becoming slender but leaving him with a tight and rotund bubble butt. He would lose a few inches of height as well, his domineering 6'3'' stature replaced with a more average 5'9''. While still remaining muscular and retaining an athletic build, Jerry found himself with a much more slender and toned physique.

Jerry's body hair soon receded into his skin. The hairy beast found his shoulders, arms, and back smooth and hairless. A tasteful amount of chest chair remained as well as a happy trail leading down towards his groin.

One of the biggest changes to follow would be the loss of what Jerry probably considered his pride and joy. His disheveled beard receded back into his face, leaving him with short, black stubble but keeping a thick mustache while revealing a much more defined jawline. His face in general was now narrow and much more refined.

The transformation seemed to go on forever, but eventually, it slowed down and stopped. The big, brutish guy was now a completely different person, unrecognizable from his former self. Jerry felt himself up, his hands running up and down his new body, becoming slightly aroused as he became familiar with every single change that occurred.

Despite the initial shock of the transformation, he found himself feeling surprisingly comfortable in his new body. Unbeknownst to him, memories of his past life were in the process of being rewritten. Gone were the days where he played college football with the boys, drank himself under the table, and hit on any women with an impressive set of knockers. Instead, a life of gymnastics and dance, Sunday brunches, and nights out at gay clubs came rushing in.

Jerry stepped out of the porta-pottie, still in somewhat of a daze. He had an inkling that he was supposed to meet someone, but wasn't quite sure who.

"Hey! Over here!" A voice yelled out from the distance, catching the newly transformed man's attention. Jerry turned around, catching a glimpse of the person calling for him. As soon as he saw their face, something immediately clicked in his head.

"Charlie!" Speaking in a much higher-pitched voice, Jerry recognized the man as the very same one from earlier. This time however, they weren't meeting as strangers. Jerry recalled a whole life's worth of memories with Charlie.

"Babe, I turn around for one second and you go disappearing on me." Charlie approached Jerry, giving him a quick peck on the lips.

"Had to go freshen up. Sorry, wasn't aware my boyfriend needed to know my location at all times." Jerry pouted as he put his arm on Charlie, getting ready to lean in for another kiss.

"Oh, you know I go crazy without you." Charlie leaned in as well, with the two men sharing a long, sensual kiss.

"So you ready?" Jerry pulled away. "Got some douchebags on stand by for these tickets. Let's not keep them waiting."

The Green Heart: The Heart of Transformation

Story 1: Marrakech’s Embrace

Luca had always felt like a misfit in the bustling, modern city of Milan. His life was filled with the hollow echoes of art galleries, empty cafes, and fleeting, meaningless connections. He was a man adrift, disconnected from his roots and unsure of where he truly belonged. His paintings, once vibrant and full of life, had become muted, reflecting the dullness he felt inside. As a gay man in a city that never seemed to understand him, Luca found himself retreating further into solitude, his desires buried beneath layers of confusion and self-doubt.

In a desperate attempt to reignite his passion for life, Luca decided to take a trip to Marrakech, a place he had always imagined to be full of color, life, and mystery. The ancient city, with its labyrinthine streets and vibrant souks, called to him like a siren’s song, promising something he couldn’t quite name.

On his second day in the city, Luca found himself wandering through a crowded market, the air thick with the scent of spices and the sound of merchants calling out their wares. The market was alive, pulsating with energy, and yet Luca felt as if he was moving through a dream. He let his feet guide him, not caring where he ended up, until he found himself in front of a small, unassuming stall at the edge of the market.

An old man, draped in a cloak of deep green, sat behind the stall, his eyes sharp and knowing. On the worn wooden table in front of him was a single item—a small, heart-shaped stone that glowed with an otherworldly light. Luca felt an inexplicable pull toward it, as if the stone was calling to him, resonating with something deep within his soul.

“Come closer,” the old man beckoned, his voice soft but commanding. “This is what you seek.”

Luca hesitated, but the pull of the stone was too strong. He stepped forward, his eyes locked on the glowing artifact. The old man smiled knowingly and nodded. “This is the Green Heart. It is meant for you.”

Without fully understanding why, Luca reached out and touched the Green Heart. The moment his fingers brushed against its smooth, warm surface, a surge of energy shot through him, electrifying every nerve in his body. His heart raced, and his breath caught in his throat as he felt something shift deep within him.

As the energy flowed through him, Luca’s body began to change. His pale, tired skin deepened to a warm, olive tone, glowing with health and vitality. His features sharpened, becoming more chiseled and defined, his jawline strong and masculine. He could feel his muscles tightening, his body becoming more athletic and powerful with each passing second. The transformation was swift, almost overwhelming, and yet Luca felt no fear—only a deep, insatiable hunger awakening within him.

His desires, once muted and suppressed, now surged to the surface, raw and undeniable. He felt alive in a way he never had before, his senses heightened, his body thrumming with a primal energy that demanded to be unleashed.

Stumbling away from the stall, Luca wandered through the market in a daze, his mind struggling to catch up with the changes in his body. The colors around him seemed brighter, the sounds clearer, as if the world had suddenly snapped into focus. He was no longer the quiet, withdrawn artist who had arrived in Marrakech—he was something more, something powerful and alive.

As he rounded a corner, he nearly collided with a tall, dark-haired man whose presence hit him like a physical force. The man’s name was Amir, and his eyes locked onto Luca’s with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. There was something about Amir—something magnetic, primal, and irresistible—that drew Luca in, fanning the flames of the desire that now burned within him.

Without a word, they fell into step together, their bodies brushing against each other as they walked through the narrow streets of the city. The tension between them was palpable, a current of electricity that neither could ignore. It wasn’t long before Amir led Luca to a secluded courtyard, hidden away from the prying eyes of the world.

The moment they were alone, the tension snapped, and they came together in a frenzied embrace. Their hands roamed each other’s bodies, exploring, claiming, as if they had been starved for this connection for a lifetime. Luca could feel the power of the Green Heart pulsing through him, heightening every sensation, amplifying every touch. His lips found Amir’s, and they kissed with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

Their clothes were quickly discarded, and Luca marveled at the way his body responded to Amir’s touch, as if every nerve ending had been set on fire. Amir’s hands were rough and possessive, his kisses demanding, and Luca surrendered to him completely, giving in to the desire that had been awakened within him. They moved together with a primal urgency, their bodies entwined in a dance of passion and need.

The world around them faded away, leaving only the heat of their bodies and the intensity of their connection. Amir’s dark eyes bore into Luca’s, and in that moment, Luca knew that he had found what he had been searching for—his true self, his true desires, his true love.

As they lay together in the aftermath, their bodies slick with sweat, Luca felt a profound sense of peace wash over him. The Green Heart had transformed him, not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually. He was no longer the lost, lonely artist from Milan—he was a man reborn, a man who had found his place in the world.

And as he looked into Amir’s eyes, he knew that he had found his home.

The next chapter will be released next Wednesday 18th September. 💚

AlwaysErotic on Twitter

H for Henry?

Monday morning. I'm supposed to go on a date with a girl I met on Tinder tomorrow. As an asian geek with no amazing body, nor something other people would find attractive with, I wanted to look good on my very first date.

My roommate, Henry, was kind and supportive for it. He's very fond of dressing well so he did all he could to make sure I will look great when I finally meet the girl, and so he let me borrow some of his clothes.

He helped me get dressed. After wearing it all up, he decided to add finishig touches. He pulled a necklace from his pocket and handed it over to me.

"H?" I asked, "Wouldn't it be weird if she sees me with an initial of your name, Henry?"

"That's not really what the H is for. Just try it out, Dennis, and let's see." He replied

As soon as I wore his necklace, I started to feel an impressively pleasurable feeling that washed down my body. At first, it just feel as if I'm all relaxed, but when I sat down on the bed, my whole body started to feel so sensitive. Even just my skin feeling the confines of my clothes sends shivers down my spine. Sooner or later, I felt my cock tent. I realized then that I'm so horny. My hands moved to paw on my errection as it started to grow. My other hand felt up inside the shirt I was wearing to tease my nipple, realizing that my chest is starting to lose fat and get replaced by muscles.

I looked at Henry as he moved closer to me.

"H can mean a lot of thing, but one things for sure." Henry grabbed my chin to make me look directly into his eyes.

"Horny."

I groaned as I felt more uncontrollable lust wash all over me.

"and the other would be..." He pulled my face near him, matching our lips as they level to each other.

"Himbo."

It's like a command. As soon as he said that, my mind cleared out. I couldn't help but just give a smirk as I feel my horniness rise up with Henry in front of me.

"Mmhmmm, broooo...." I groaned as I started to feel more muscles begin to fill up the clothes he made me wore. I couldn't think if anything else but to get some tight pussy to fuck. God, I can't wait to hook up with that girl tomorrow.

"Hairy." He added.

My face started to get itchy and my right hand that I was using to play with my nipple rose up to sratch it, feeling my facial hair fill up to a trimmed beard. My chest also filled up with hair as the thin ones on my arms and legs started to thicken.

"Homo." He finished

My eyes widened. At first, I wanted to push bro away because he called me a Homo, but isn't he right?

"Bro.... You're so.... close..."

"Yeah? Watchu gonna do about it, big guy?"

With his fingers still on my chin, he pulled me in for a kiss. I returned back, giving him the deepest kiss. He climed up the bed, spreading my legs and his legs in between mine. As we kiss, we starting taking off each other's clothes. Well, isn't what I'm wearing also his? Haha.

I feel his hard cock grinding against mine through each other's pants. We broke the kiss for a bit so we can take each other's pants off.

"God, bro... You're hugeeee..." I trailed off, looking at his cock.

"You're 'Hung' too, big guy." He winked at me, and soon, like a command, my cock started to grow bigger too. I moaned loud as I gripped on it, growing from its 5 inch to an 8.

Henry dove back and continued kissing me. His hand now gripping on my cock. His kisses went down to my neck, then to my nipples. Goddd! I'm so sensitive! He's jerking me off while licking my tits! His cock, softing poking my ass.

"Fuck, bro... I want you..." I moaned.

"Yeah, big guy?" Henry said in between kisses.

"Fuck me, bro. I want your dick in my ass."

Henry didn't have to be told twice. He pulled my legs on top of his shoulders, and soon, he was pushing his cock in me.

"Ooohhhh, broooo! That's soooo....." I groaned as he slowly pushed it.

"You're so tight, big boy!" Henry said.

"Fuck me hard, now. I want it bro!"

"Yeah? You want it hard?"

"Make me bust my nut!"

Henry moved in, pushing hard, then back out. Slow at first, but soon he was fucking me like a crazy. His cock, making it all feel good inside. His hand on my cock.

He was so good, he was kissing me while he fuck my wits out. God, I'm so horny and gay for my bro.

"Bro! Bro! I'm...!"

"Yeah? Let it out, big buy!"

"Fuckkk!"

"I'm close too- I'm!"

Henry pulled out, jerking both of our cocks. Then our gate just bursted open and we came at the same time. His cum mixing with mine as we emptied out our balls all over my abs and chest.

"G-God, bro... That's so goood..."

Henry fell on top of me, our cum smearing all over our bodies. We hugged each other as our lust subsided.

"Wish that wouldn't be the last time, bro..." I whispered into his ear.

"Me too..." Henry said, his arms tightening up around me. "I've always liked you and I don't wanna let some girl take you away."

I took a deep breath. Henry's sudden confession didn't feel too bad. If I'll be honest, I started to feel more comfortable now. Realizing what magic he did to me, I don't think I mind. Henry's a nice guy. He did a lot for me. It might've been he change, but I remember telling my best bro that I would go out with him if I was gay. I hold onto the necklace and thought of something.

"We can make it last forever, you know." I said.

"How?" He lifted himself off, looked at me in the eyes.

I took the necklace off and wore it around his neck.

"H-...." I hesitated, being a himbo now kinda made me forget the right word.

"Husband."

Henry's eyes widened as we feel our new wedding rings appear on our fingers.

Countdown to a New You

Anderson Cooper, live on CNN's New Year's Eve Countdown, was in the midst of his usual lively banter with cohost Andy Cohen. Drinks flowed freely as the excitement of the night built up, and Anderson was caught in the whirlwind of interviews and the countdown. In the midst of it all, a crew member handed him a mysterious red shot. Without thinking much, Anderson tossed it back, laughing along with Andy Cohen.

Immediately, a sharp cough interrupted his good spirits. The taste of the shot was vile—bitter, burning, and unexpectedly harsh. It left a strange aftertaste on his tongue, but Anderson was far from sober. Having already indulged in a few too many drinks, he let it slide, shrugging off the unpleasant sensation. The liquor worked its way through his system, blurring his thoughts and numbing his senses.

The countdown continued: "10...9...8..." Anderson rubbed his temples, his mind cloudy. The idea of spending another year endlessly reporting on the same political stories, particularly Trump, seemed unbearable. His body began to feel heavier, fuzzier. "7...6...5..." The world around him grew more distant, as though everything was slipping out of his grasp, until...

"3...2...1..."

Suddenly, the world shifted. Anderson blinked and found himself no longer in the CNN studio. He was among the sea of loud, rowdy New Year’s Eve partygoers in the streets of New York. The drunken crowd stumbled and shouted, a blend of joyous and confused voices. As he pushed his way through the throngs of people, someone shouted, “Watch where you’re going, big guy!”

Big guy? Anderson thought, confused. He wasn't a hulking figure—he worked out, sure, but big? He glanced down at himself, feeling a strange sensation building in his body. His stomach ached, but he attributed it to the drinks. However, the ache deepened, his muscles twitching, spasming. The change began, slow but undeniable.

Anderson felt his body shift, growing, expanding. His muscles swelled, pushing against the confines of his clothes. He looked down in astonishment as his biceps stretched, thickening, each muscle becoming a solid mass, defined and powerful. His chest expanded, a hard wall of muscle forming where there had once been a more average build. The veins popped out from his forearms, running like rivers under his skin, pulsing with every movement.

His once lean and slightly slender frame was now an enormous, muscle-bound force of nature. His body rippled with raw power, his hands, now large and calloused, could crush anything in their grip. His neck thickened, cords of muscle making it look like it was carved from stone, and his traps swelled, each muscle a solid mound. As the transformation continued, Anderson became a living testament to physical dominance—a massive man, built from pure muscle, his body like a mountain of strength.

His skin, now bronzed and rugged, reflected years of hard work and a life of physical labor—of lifting, of outdoor adventures, of pushing himself to the limit. He stood tall, towering over the crowd, the raw power in his body emanating from every move. He cracked his knuckles, his new stance one of aggression and unshakable confidence. His entire being seemed to scream "big"—not just big in size, but in strength, presence, and raw, untamed energy.

Anderson looked at his new self in awe, both surprised and strangely empowered by the transformation. He was no longer just a news anchor in a tuxedo—he was a living powerhouse. Every step he took was accompanied by the flex of muscles, the pulse of veins, and the certainty that he was now something different, something more.

Anderson stumbled toward the open bar, his new, massive body clumsy and out of place in the crowd. He leaned against the bar, struggling to adjust to the newfound weight and strength of his muscles. As he looked up, his eyes met the bartender, a handsome man with a cocky grin.

"What’ll it be, bro?" the bartender asked with a confident smile.

Anderson blinked, a moment of clarity trying to pierce through the haze of his foggy mind, but before he could answer, the bartender's expression shifted, and he sneered.

“Ugh. Quit checking me out. We don’t serve no homos here. Only good Christian conservatives," the bartender said, his words dripping with contempt.

For a brief second, Anderson felt a pang of memory—pride parades, his advocacy for equal rights, his husband, the principles he once stood for. But those thoughts quickly faded as his body seemed to pulse with the force of the transformation. His mind became slower, fuzzier, and the memories of the past seemed less important, less vivid.

Instead, the new Anderson began to emerge—a version of himself that was brash, muscular, and filled with an arrogant sense of dominance. The memories of his old life slipped away as he embraced his new persona. Anderson felt the urge to lean into this new identity, one that was provocative and unapologetic. His voice grew deep and confident as he responded, his tone filled with newfound cockiness.

“Yeah, I get it. And what’s wrong with that, huh?” Anderson replied, his grin matching the bartender's. "It’s a free world, right?" Anderson sat at the bar, his fingers wrapped tightly around the glass, the next drink slowly making its way through his system. With each sip, he felt a fire rise in his chest, a burning heat that spread through his veins, turning his blood red-hot. The noise of the city around him, the cacophony of voices screaming and yelling, grated against his senses. It was too much. These damn city folk, all of them—loud, entitled, taking up space in the bar as though they owned the place. His mind seethed with irritation, a storm brewing in his chest.

He shifted in his seat, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. His memories of newscasts and interviews with politicians, once full of politeness, professionalism, and kindness, began to fade away. They felt distant, like old shoes that no longer fit. His years of calm, measured conversations were replaced by something darker, something sharper, as if his very persona was being rewritten by the drink flowing through him. The lines of stress and wrinkles on his face, the marks of a life lived in constant scrutiny and responsibility, slowly began to wash away. He could feel his face growing harder, more defined, less empathetic, and much more youthful.

As the liquor coursed through his bloodstream, his body grew hot with rage and entitlement. He could feel the shift in his thoughts—his old self, the thoughtful journalist, disappearing as a new version of himself began to form. The memories of his compassionate interviews were replaced by new, unfamiliar ones—TikTok clips, viral moments, flexing in front of the camera. His mind flickered to the image of a man who thrived on controversy, who built his empire on shocking the world, on unapologetically flaunting his success. This was something more raw, more dangerous, a walking contradiction wrapped in muscle and bravado.

A vision of a hyper-confident, right-wing comedian started to take shape in his mind, someone brash and bold, with a sharp tongue that ripped through the fabric of the internet’s carefully curated persona. The image was clear now—this new version of himself was everything the media loathed, everything society considered "unfiltered." He saw himself as the epitome of masculinity, his body a testament to hours spent in the gym, the sculpted muscles of his chest and arms flexing with every movement. His face wore a cocky grin, a permanent smirk, like a lion looking down at sheep, unbothered by the noise around him.

The new Anderson Cooper didn't care about social justice or "cancel culture" or the so-called softness of the modern world. He mocked it. He derided it. He was untouchable. He was the one who didn’t need the system, who didn’t need the handouts. Everything he had achieved was because of his hard work, his dedication, his willpower. Anyone who couldn’t make it, well, that was their problem, right?

The anger that had once boiled inside him turned into pure, unfiltered trolling. The satire was biting, sharp as a knife. He saw himself mocking the left-wing causes with sarcastic humor, shredding the arguments that sought to change the status quo, all while flexing his financial success. His wealth, his body, his "self-made" empire were all part of his show—his brand. And he wasn’t going to apologize for any of it. He mocked the soft, mainstream conservatives, too, calling them weak and out of touch, gleefully watching as both sides recoiled from his inflammatory rhetoric.

This new Anderson thrived on controversy. He lived for the outrage, the debates, the clashing of ideologies. His TikToks, his viral videos—they were a canvas for his audacity, an ever-expanding collection of one-liners, memes, and references to pop culture that blended seamlessly with his hyper-masculine, self-promoting lifestyle. His followers ate it up—because he wasn’t just about flexing his muscles; he was flexing his right to speak, his right to dominate the conversation. He was always right. Always the loudest.

As Anderson sat at the bar sipping his whiskey, a curvy blonde slid onto the stool next to him. Her tight dress hugged her body in all the right places. She turned to him with a coy smile. "OMG, aren't you like, super famous?" she gushed, big blue eyes wide. Anderson was about to puff out his chest and brag how he was indeed but the bombshell cut him off. "You're that douchebag constantly going on about how the media is full of 'woke fags'" The blonde's words hit Anderson like a punch to the gut. Anderson's mind began to rewrite itself, delving deep into memories of his most douchey, obnoxious rants as a conservative internet celebrity. He recalled his rise to fame, lashing out at the "fucking faggot woke media" in videos that went viral among the Reddit subreddit of white nationalists, MRAs, and other bottom-feeders of humanity. With each memory, Anderson's ego grew, along with the tent rapidly forming in his slacks as he thought about the smokin' hot blonde beside him. God damn, I'm such a catch…famous AND I'm not afraid to speak my truth. The chicks love a man who isn't brainwashed by the liberal media lies, he thought proudly as he straightened his posture. Fuck, I can already picture this fox riding my dick and screaming "White power!"" "You know what would be SO hot right now?" asked Anderson, with a coy smile. "Bitch, I can do whatever I want! In fact…"He roughly grabbed her ass, squeezing her firm cheeks through her dress. Fuck, what did she say her name was? My brain is like, totally fried right now… Focus, dude! Suddenly, a glimmer of light shone behind his glazed eyes and a voice emerged from within his thick skull, "It's Cassie. You're Jaydien…Jaydien DIESEL!"Jaydien grinned and threw his hand up in the"okay"sign."JAYDIEN DIESEL, motherfucker! Host of 'It's OK to Be White' on Gab. Now back the fuck up, ho!"Jaydien smirked, eyes glazed over as he slurred out drunken rants about the decay of American values and how only "family men like him" can fix it. He rambled on and on about his unwavering faith in Jesus Christ as he groped at Cassie's tits and ass shamelessly.

"You see, Cassie…these liberal scumbags and their rainbow bullshit are destroying the very foundations of our nation!"Jaydien yelled, practically drooling on her cleavage. "But God put ME on this Earth to save America from the homo agenda and their pussy propaganda. Men are SUPPOSED to grab pussy, am I right?!"

Cassie giggled, too tipsy and perhaps too slutty to stop this uncouth cretin from feeling her up in the middle of the crowded bar. Jaydien took her silence as a sign to keep going with his Christian crusade.

Jaydien's hand was all over Cassie's body as he ranted about Jesus, guns, and grab-pussy politics, barely able to get his words out through his drunken stupor. The bartender eyed them warily but was too lazy to intervene. This seemed to encourage Jaydien's lewd behavior. "Goddamn it's hot in here… Let's take this somewhere more private!" Jaydien slurred loudly enough for the whole bar to hear. He yanked Cassie off the bar stool, making her stumble in her heels. The blonde barely had a chance to react before Jaydien was dragging her across the floor toward the restrooms."C'mon, time for you to make America great again on your knees, slut!" A few patrons booed disapprovingly but Jaydien just flipped them off. "Eat a dick, libtards! And suck on the RedWaveRapture"

Spare Parts

Al untucked his shirt, then tucked it in again, then quickly untucked it before landing on a French tuck—a mix of both that suited him worse than either. He had never been so nervous about going out with his friends. In the past, he was the life of the party, staying out clubbing until the witching hours, getting drunk, and ending up in some stranger's bed the next morning. That was before he made the fatal mistake of jaywalking drunk and got hit by a bus, which flung him into the path of another bus, which sent him off a bridge and into the water, where he was run over by a boat. Honestly, it would have been a pretty comical way to die—only he didn’t die. He should have died; he broke every bone in his body and turned his organs into a smoothie. The wonders of modern medicine intervened. He still didn’t quite understand exactly how, but the doctors had used stem cells, like those regenerating cells babies have, to essentially bring him back from the dead. A miracle, yes, but even miracles had their limits. The recovery process was long and hard, and even now, recently released from medical custody, he was not the same man he’d been before the accident.

Getting hit by two buses and a boat does that to you. His face was mangled—not to the point of being monstrous, but not attractive either. His body had also suffered from the accident, practically wasting away as he recovered. While the old Al partied with abandon, this new Al was self-conscious of his appearance and absolutely terrified to cross the street. Now, he stood at the crosswalk, fidgeting with his short-sleeve button-down shirt, thinking about why he had asked an old lady to help him across. He clutched her tightly as they crossed, ready to throw her in the way if a bus came barreling toward them—luckily for both of them, none did. Despite her age and his current condition, the woman actually made a pass at him, calling him a “handsome lad” and asking if he wanted to go back to her place. It helped his confidence, if only a little, and gave him a strange tingling feeling.

Finally, after detaching himself from the woman, he reached the club. Despite the relatively early hour, the place was bumping; the bass-boosted electronic music and a flashing rainbow could be seen and heard from the outside. A quick check of his phone informed him that his friends were already inside, so he joined the short line and waited to be let in by the bouncer. As he neared the front, he realized he recognized the bouncer. Back when he frequented this place, he was friendly with the muscular man. Now, though, he doubted the man would recognize him, and he honestly hoped to keep it that way. Back then, he was sort of a legend, a position he doubted he could live up to now. As the bouncer—Rod, he thought—waved him forward, Al couldn’t help but admire the man's physique. It seemed that while Al recovered, Rod made some serious gains. His arms were particularly impressive; Al found himself feeling bad for the man’s sleeves as they tried and failed to contain his massive arms. Their sheer size was only enhanced by the web of veins that patterned the muscles. 

“ID, please,” Rod said, indeed not recognizing Al as he had predicted. Al handed over his card, suddenly realizing the picture on the ID was pre-accident.

“Had a bit of a glow-down,” Al said awkwardly, trying to flash a smile but only managing to lift one side of his mouth—the other’s nerve endings were damaged beyond repair. Rod grunted but returned Al’s ID; even despite the discrepancies in the photo, there was little doubt that Al was of age. As Rod handed back his ID, their hands touched just slightly, and for a second, Al felt a slight tingling in his upper arms. Then it was gone as quickly as it came. 

“Have fun, man,” Rod said, “and nice guns.” Al laughed at that, thinking the man was making fun of his twig arms.

He lifted his arm, expecting the usual sight of his scrawny limb. But when his gaze landed on it, his breath caught. His bicep had swollen under the skin, somehow in the span of a heartbeat his twig arms had become tree trunks. Al’s fingers traced the now firm, rounded muscle, a mix of fear and fascination flooding his mind. The sheer size and hardness of his new bicep felt both alien and irresistibly satisfying, a forbidden thrill coursing through his veins at his arms meaty massive things they now were. They looked like almost exact copies of Rod’s, only instead of the man's olive complexion, the biceps had the pale look of someone who had spent the last two years in a hospital bed.

Al felt light-headed. How was this possible? Was he having some sort of mental breakdown, a delusion? He needed to find his friends. No, he needed to find a drink. The bar was right where he remembered—just to the left of the entrance. Unlike Rod, the bouncer, he didn’t recognize the bartender—a short, slightly pudgy man who looked to be in his mid-40s, with a strong square cleft chin that didn’t particularly match the rest of his average features. Al walked up to him, trying to hide his now-massive arms to little avail. He found he couldn’t stop flexing and feeling them, equal parts concerned and turned on by the mysterious new muscles.

“I'll take a vodka soda,” Al tried to say casually, although the words came out more as a question than a request. Luckily, the night was still young enough that he managed to get the man's attention, although the fact that he wasn’t a pretty girl kept him from making small talk. As he worked, Al saw the bartender occasionally glance up at his biceps, which he had crossed in an attempt to hide them. They looked a little ridiculous with the rest of his scrawny body. Wordlessly, the bartender placed a garnish on the drink before handing it to Al. Just as with Rod, their hands innocently touched, and again Al felt a strange tingle, this time centering on his chin. Lifting the glass to his lips, Al quickly lowered it, uneasy at how strange the sensation felt. Years of drinking had made him familiar with the feel of a glass against his lips, but something felt off now. His bottom lip somehow felt more supported, stiffer. A quick exploration with his finger revealed that his chin was causing the offense. But that couldn’t be—his chin had been round and soft even before the accident. Whatever this new chin that had somehow attached itself to his face was, it felt like a block of stone, the bone protruding in a harsh, strong way completely foreign to his face. The deep cleft was also new, creating a valley in the mountain that was his chin. Pulling out his phone, he saw what his fingers had felt: his face now somehow sported a strong, masculine chin almost identical to that of the bartender.

Al wasn’t the brightest, but even he began to put the pieces together. Somehow, he was absorbing the best qualities of every person he touched. His mind raced, trying to figure out what could be causing this. The stem cells he received might be the explanation, but why now? Al needed to get out; he needed to see a doctor. Panicked, he looked for the exit only to find a crowd had congregated between the bar and the nearest door. There was no way he could make it to the other side without touching anyone. Could he risk it? 

His contemplation was cut short as a woman sauntered up to the bar, her stumbling gait indicating she was already a few drinks deep. That was hardly the most noticeable thing about her; put bluntly, she had massive boobs—the type that could never fit in a top without being the center of attention. As she stumbled her way toward the bar, she tripped on one of her own feet. Al’s eyes widened as he realized too late that her fall would take her directly toward him. He tried to move out of the way, but as she fell, her arms reached forward for support, landing on his own. For a brief second, he hoped he might absorb her winning smile, but judging by the tingling in his chest, he wasn’t so lucky. Horrified, he glanced down, expecting to see breasts pushing out of his shirt. Instead, he found different mounds there—equally large, yes, but the lumps on his chest weren’t boobs; they were too firm and square. No, instead Al had somehow gained massive pectoral muscles from his contact with the woman. Their growth had unceremoniously demolished the first three buttons of his shirt, which was having a bad day trying to contain his massive chest and arms. The muscles looked downright strange on his body, the rest of it still emaciated from the accident. In fact, Al struggled to support the weight of his new mass, his shrimpy legs and shoulders straining under the sudden load.

The woman pulled away from his arms, drunkenly apologizing before reaching out to grope one of his now-massive pecs. Luckily, no tingles followed, confirming Al’s suspicion that he could only absorb from a person once. Now, Al felt torn about what to do. On one hand, he still worried about the changes and their possible repercussions, but did he want them to stop? If he went to the doctor now and they fixed him, would he be stuck in his current disproportionate form forever? This could be a blessing—a way to heal from the damage caused by the accident, to become the ultimate version of himself—or rather, of the people around him. So far, none of the changes had been bad. Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Al scanned the room for someone with a feature he wanted to absorb. The choice became easier when a cute guy walked right past him, his clothing tight on his lean, muscular body, and he looked well-groomed. Before the accident—in fact, before tonight—Al had never paid much attention to the appearance of other men. Maybe it was the fact that he now saw their features as ones he could have, or perhaps it was something else, but for whatever reason, he found himself checking out the other men in the club, including the one walking by. On instinct, he stuck his foot out, tripping the man, their bare ankles making contact for a second in the process. The man stumbled and then turned to face Al, his face red with anger, which quickly cooled as he took in Al.

“Hey, I like your hair, dude,” he said. Al had hoped that he might absorb the guy's cute, tight ass or maybe his strong Roman nose, but his hair worked too. It was silky, thick, and coiffed attractively—definitely an improvement over his current thinning hair.

“Thanks, man,” Al said, reaching up to find that he indeed had hair identical to the man he had just tripped. 

“Do you go to Clarice?” the guy asked. The question sparked a brief conversation in which Al lied through his teeth, pretending they went to the same barber rather than admitting that he thought his stem cells had magically copied the guy's hairstyle to a tee. Eventually, Al excused himself, claiming he had seen his friends. This was true; as they chatted, Al had located his friends huddled close to the DJ booth on the dance floor. Steeling himself, he made his way over to them, trying to avoid physical contact. His efforts were only somewhat successful. An accidental brush of a college-age girl’s hand lengthened his eyelashes, while a hip bump into a man with rolled-up sleeves thickened his forearms, so his arms were now somewhat proportional. Once he reached the dance floor, however, he lost total control. Falling arms and thrusting hips assaulted him from all sides. An accidental step on a foot caused his lips to buzz as if they had momentarily fallen asleep, puffing up to appear pillowy and soft. A hand brushed across his back, causing a tingle in his shoulders, widening them and only making his progress more difficult. The elbow wedged awkwardly into the crevice of his pecs by a sheepish-looking man earned him a short, coarse beard across his jaw—a jaw that had become wider and sharper thanks to the impatient shoving of a male model behind him. Al quickly lost track of exactly what features he had gained from whom. A sudden numbness in different parts of his body was the only indication that he continued to change. At one point, a gigantic man who had to be some sort of pro basketball player moved next to Al. Al indulged himself, letting his hand “accidentally” rub against the tall man's leg and feeling his whole body lengthen. The constant shifting of the dance floor meant no one noticed Al or the way his features shifted. As he neared his friends, a twink dressed only in a leather harness and thong approached him and started to grind up against him. Even more shocking was the rock-hard abs that formed from their contact and the boner that Al inexplicably developed from the experience. The twink started to unbutton the last few remaining buttons on his shirt, and he let him, not wanting to deprive the world of his body.

At last, Al reached his friends, finally finding a pocket of relative emptiness near the loudspeakers. 

Al reached out to tap one of his friends on the arm before thinking better of it and just stood there awkwardly, waiting for them to notice him. Eventually, the song ended, and his three friends turned to face him. Only with a pang of shock did Al realize they didn’t recognize him. How could they? He had become a sort of Frankenstein’s monster of different features from the various patrons of the club. Where they expected their scrawny, balding friend fresh out of an extensive hospital stay, instead before them stood a 6’5” bodybuilder with a face, a hodgepodge of features from various people, somehow working together to give him a handsome and exotic look.

“Hey, have you seen our friend? Short, skinny, looks like he might have been hit by a bus or two,” his friend Jordan asked. It was a simple question, but for maybe the first time in two years, Al noticed not a trace of pity in his friend's voice. No, rather it was admiration. Al’s previous intentions of coming clean to his friends and seeking help melted away as he realized the opportunity he had. He could finally escape the shadow of those busses; he could have a new start.

“Nope, haven’t seen anyone like that,” he said in a voice much richer and deeper thanks to the vocal cords of some unknown stranger. 

“I’m Jordan, by the way,” his friend said, raising his voice to be heard over the music. 

“Al.” Shit. So much for a fresh start. Jordan glanced at his other two friends but didn’t say anything. Instead, one of his other friends, Sergio, grabbed Al’s hand and pulled him into their dance circle. The contact made his whole body tingle and, glancing down, he saw that his skin had darkened to the same ruddy tan as his friend's. Luckily, the flashing lights and the general darkness of the club made Al fairly sure no one noticed the transformation.

Throughout the night, he became reacquainted with his own friends and found innocent ways of making contact with each of them. From his friend Marge, he gained her show-stopping ass, the muscular butt complementing the thick thighs he had gained sometime during his mad rush. Contact with Linsey copied her perfect Barbie blonde hair. The stylish haircut and scruff he had grown sometime during the night bleached itself instantly while all his body hair, limited as it was by various tingles, turned the same gold color. His friend Jordan took a special interest in the new Al, and Al found himself reciprocating the attention, for the first time noticing just how hot his friend was. When at long last they touched, Al grabbed the man and brought him into a passionate kiss. He swore he felt tingles but couldn’t notice any change on his body. After long hours of sweaty dancing, a round of shots, and many more kisses between the two former friends, the group headed over to Jordan's apartment. Al nearly blew his cover by heading straight to his friend's door, but the excuse of “lucky guess” seemed to satisfy his non-sober companions. After a few more hours of chatting and more alcohol, everyone left but Al and Jordan.

Jordan used the classic “let me show you something in the bedroom” line, which led to more kissing and Jordan feeling up Al’s new muscular body. Eventually, as both men removed their pants, Al discovered what he had picked up from his friend. Long and thick, Al’s penis was identical to that of his lover, which Jordan seemed delighted by, claiming he had never been with someone with a tool as big as his. It took a moment for Al to get over the surprise of his friend packing so much meat and the fact that he now did as well, but once he accepted it, he used his new member to the fullest. After hours of fucking, the two fell asleep, not waking up until the afternoon the next day. Al politely said his goodbyes and awkwardly avoided giving Jordan his number, not wanting to explain why it was the same number as Jordan's sickly friend. 

Exiting the apartment, he noticed the same elderly woman from last night and to his chagrin, she once again hit on him, asking to hold his bicep while they crossed the street. When he touched her, he felt no tingles, which he thought strange until he remembered she was the first person to induce that sensation upon him last night. Could it be that he had somehow absorbed her sex drive or sexuality? Was that why he had a sudden appreciation for men? The thought amused him as he made his way to his car. But before he could dwell on it too much, his attention was abruptly pulled back to the present.

Lost in thought, he didn’t see the bus careening down the street, heading right for him. The blare of the horn hit him a second too late, and everything went black.

The next thing Al knew, he was waking up in a hospital—a horrifying déjà vu of two years ago. A young doctor stood over him, clipboard clutched in two massive, masculine hands. His eyes fluttered as he tried to make sense of his surroundings, the cold sterility of the hospital room bringing back memories of his long, painful recovery. Blearily, Al glanced down at himself. His perfect, hunky form was now a mess—bones broken, muscles flattened. All except his hands, which looked larger and callused, suspiciously identical to the doctor standing above him. It seemed that Al’s luck with public transportation hadn’t changed, but now he knew how to build himself back up. A minor setback, sure, but nothing a few spare parts wouldn’t fix.

Wrote this a while ago but thought i would post it here with images and some small edits. Not my best but think its still a fun story.