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Clothes Make The Man

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The door made an unusual noise when it opened: a low, dull note that tapered off into a whisper, like an exhale. The first thing Dylan Crabtree thought when he heard it was that it sounded like a deep voice making a sex moan. It stopped him in his tracks, and he turned to look at the door’s old wooden frame before proceeding down into the store.

Old wood led to more old wood: the floor, the walls, and the fixtures. The boards creaked softly under Dylan’s Air Jordans as he surveyed the space, running his fingers over a stack of folded shirts, then stopping to look at himself in a mirror with a sigh. Stupid teenaged skin. He kept breaking out lately and couldn’t figure out why. Maybe the pool water was drying him out.

Another set of floor creaks announced that he wasn’t alone. Nobody was going to sneak up on you in here, that was for sure. Dylan turned and his too-cool teenage facade cracked for just a moment at the sight of the person approaching him: a mountainous blond man with a beard so thick it hid his face like a mask. He was Dylan’s height, but far broader, with massive shoulders that seemed to start at his ears, and a chest so bulbous his dark green necktie was wedged between his pectorals. The knot of his tie was straight and conical, but the sleeves of his light blue dress shirt were rolled up to expose beefy forearms. The only way Dylan could tell the man was an employee was the tape measure that hung around his neck.

“Afternoon,” the man said in a gravelly voice.

“Hey,” Dylan said, back to cool mode.

“What brings you in today?”

“Oh, just looking around, thanks.”

“No you’re not. You came in here for a very specific reason.” The man’s light blue eyes twinkled behind his spectacles.

Dylan looked up in surprise at the man. That certainly wasn’t the response he’d expected. Store employees always just walked away when you told them you were browsing. “Uh...well…” He was caught so off-guard by the employee’s frankness that it took him a moment to formulate his thoughts. “It’s stupid,” Dylan said, cheeks reddening. “I’m just trying to kind of...like...make myself over, a little bit. I want to impress girls.”

“Why’s that stupid?” The man smiled. “That’s literally what this store exists for! I’m happy to make you over.” He extended his hand. “You can call me Mr. Bernhardt.”

“Dylan.”

“So what makes you want a makeover, Dylan?” Mr. Bernhardt leaned against a table and crossed his arms.

“Um...well, there’s a couple reasons, but mainly I’ve never had a girlfriend. And I can’t quite figure out why. Like, girls like me, I think. I don’t think I’m bad looking. I’m a swimmer, and my friends on the team date a lot more than me. I think I just sorta blend in a little bit. So I was thinking, maybe I need to stand out a little more. I just don’t really know how to do that. Clothes were one of my ideas. I probably can’t afford this place, but…”

“Don’t worry about prices, we can figure that out,” Mr. Bernhardt said with a wave of his big hand. “And certainly, clothes make the man. But no one dates a person’s clothes. So my goal with you will be to also give you a big dose of confidence. We’re going to unleash the real you, Dylan. You might be surprised by him!”

Dylan liked that, although it sounded expensive.

Mr. Bernhardt hopped up. “What I’ll need from you is just your trust. I won’t steer you wrong. Even if you feel silly in the moment, you’ll come around in the end, I promise.”

“Okay. I trust you.” And Dylan did. The guy was all muscle with a big beard. He was rocking the shirt and tie look. He looked great. Probably had women all over him.

“So how do you normally dress, Dylan?” Mr. Bernhardt was doing a lap around the store, selecting items as he went.

“Like this,” Dylan shrugged. “Jeans, t-shirt. I think that’s one of the reasons I don’t stand out, but I’m also not sure what else to wear.”

“Well, people are attracted to style, certainly, but it needs to feel authentic to you too. But I can help with that. Let’s see here…” He picked up a folded sweater off a table and added it to the pile in his arms. “This should be a good start. Over to the mirror,” Mr. Bernhardt requested, leading Dylan over to a three-way mirror with a podium, right outside of a small dressing room. “Now remember, you’re still a seed. This store, these clothes - they’re the water. Now what you’re going to do is let that water nourish you, and you’re going to bloom. Seeds are meant to grow. Enjoy watching yourself blossom. It’s always a wonderful sight.”

Dylan didn’t understand the point of this speech, but he nodded all the same. “Totally, yeah.”

Mr. Bernhardt smiled and handed over a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. “Let’s start with what you already wear and we’ll go from there.” Dylan changed clothes quickly behind the door. Mr. Bernhardt had a good eye for sizing, apparently - both the jeans and t-shirt fit Dylan perfectly. But when he walked out and stood at the mirror, he just felt...kind of bored. The t-shirt was nice, and it was cut better than the ones he wore. Showed off his swimmer’s shape, at least.

“I’m just kinda ‘eh’ about it,” Dylan shrugged. “They’re nice, but they actually...I don’t know, they don’t quite feel like me.”

“See? Interesting. You’ve been worried about looking like everyone else instead of looking like yourself. The jeans are designer, and they look good, but you’re right - they’re not you.” Mr. Bernhardt produced a white-and-blue striped Oxford shirt and handed it to Dylan, who went behind the door and traded it for his t-shirt. He emerged with his nose already wrinkled. “Not you either, right?” Mr. Bernhardt ascertained.

“It’s so preppy. I’m not preppy.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to signify that, however if that’s your perception of it, that’s an instinct you should listen to. Now try this.” He handed Dylan a light yellow shirt, and the moment Dylan touched the buttery fabric, he had a good feeling about it. He had a surge of excitement replacing the preppy shirt with the yellow one. This one was nicer, it felt like - the fabric was so smooth and thick, and the collar was stiff and tall. Dylan buttoned it up and walked back out. He stood at the mirror. He cocked his head.

“I feel...different, wearing this.”

“A good different, it seems.”

“Yes. I feel like more like me in...what’s a shirt like this called?”

“A dress shirt. You’re right, they’re formal, but that works for you. What would you think if that was your go-to shirt? The shirt you wore every day?”

“Every day?”

“Yes. If dress shirts were all you wore.”

“Well...” Dylan pondered. “I mean, I think I’d have to mix it up from time to time, but if it made me feel like the way I feel now...I don’t see why I wouldn’t.”

“Ah, Dylan. That’s wonderful. I can see a gentleman beginning to form.”

And Dylan could too. He looked so good in a dress shirt. Mr. Bernhardt was right - they needed to be his daily look.

“Would I wear ties with them?” Dylan asked.

“Some men do, some men don’t. Clearly, I do,” Mr. Bernhardt smiled, using the opportunity to check his tie knot. “But you...I think you might not, actually.” He reached and unbuttoned Dylan’s stiff collar. The points spread apart like a bird taking flight. Dylan liked how the angles framed his neck and face.

“You’re right. I don’t think ties are for me. I’m an open collar guy.”

“A dress shirt with an open collar every day,” Mr. Bernhardt smiled, patting Dylan on the shoulder. “That’s the perfect look for you. And you’ll notice it improves your body line. It widens you and makes your shoulders look squarer. I hope you feel as handsome as you look.”

“I noticed that about my shoulders,” Dylan said, his reflection smiling back at him. He stood up straighter as Mr. Bernhardt fussed around him, tugging on his shirttails and analyzing how everything was fitting. Dylan, for his part, just continued to look at himself, standing up tall with the confidence that comes from being well-dressed. He’d had a big lunch, so he was kinda bloated - he sucked in his stomach and saw the buttons flatten. That looked better, he thought. When he released his breath, his tummy rounded back out, pushing the buttons slightly outward, but that was okay. He’d digest it soon enough. One thing about being a swimmer, your stomach was pretty much always gonna be flat.

“I have some pants for you too, if you’d like to try some. These are khakis for a more casual look,” Mr. Bernhardt said, though the khakis he handed over were pressed and still looked like business trousers to Dylan’s eyes. Dylan took them and went into the fitting room to trade them out for his jeans, but when he noticed the tag on the new pants said they were a 29 inseam, he had a feeling they’d be short. And he was right.

“I’m usually a 32 length,” Dylan said, walking out of the fitting room to show Mr. Bernhardt his exposed calves.

“Ahh...yes, yes, I see what you mean. Try these.” The salesman handed over a pair of genuine dress pants to Dylan - this time, there was no attempt to pass them off as casual.

“These are a 29 inseam too,” Dylan said.

“A different brand, though,” Mr. Bernhardt said. “Wildly different fits, I assure you.”

Dylan shrugged and gave them a try, and to his surprise, these pants did indeed fit his legs. But they did not fit his waist - they were too tight there, pushing his bloated tummy out over the waistband. He still showed the salesman, even tucking in his shirt while he stood on the stool and looked in the 3-way mirror.

“Ah, excellent. We can go up in the waist. You do have a bit of a belly, I hadn’t noticed!”

“Only because I ate a lot. I have abs.” Dylan looked over at Bernhardt, then stepped down off the stool. The salesman was a head taller than he was. “You’re...did you…” Dylan looked around at the shop. Everything did feel a little...further away.

“Mm?” Bernhardt asked, as he put away one of the sweaters he’d pulled for Dylan.

“I...feel shorter, all of a sudden. I dunno why. Weird.”

“Need to sit down for a minute?”

Dylan shook his head, sandy curls jostling on top of it. “No, it’s okay. Can you measure me though?”

Bernhardt nodded and whipped out his tape measure. Dylan stood on the end of it and the salesman pulled it taut, then analyzed the notch at the top of Dylan’s head. “You are...let’s see...five-foot-eight.”

“No, that’s not right. I’m six-one! I’m not short.”

“I’d argue that five-eight isn’t short, it’s average.”

“I’d argue it’s short. I swim, I can’t be five-eight,” Dylan said. No wonder the 29 inseam fit...the store just had to be using weird measurements. Dylan was tall, he knew he was tall. He couldn’t be 5’8. Though the Dylan in the mirror did look more compact. And maybe a bit wider, like he’d been pressed down under someone’s thumb. Kind of...stout. But he wasn’t supposed to be stout…

“Well, the most important thing for men of shorter stature is good posture,” Mr. Bernhardt said, and he gently pulled on Dylan’s shoulders to adjust them back. Dylan felt a pop in his spine as it aligned as straight as a nail. Mr. Bernhardt reached around and tipped Dylan’s chin upward with his fingers. “There we go. Carry yourself proudly, young man, regardless of your height. And always speak with the utmost confidence. Here, introduce yourself to me.”

“Um...okay...hi, my name’s Dylan.” Dylan extended his hand and Mr. Bernhardt shook it while looking straight at him.

“Not bad, but you dipped your chin down while you spoke. You seemed uncertain. And speak from here.” He tapped two fingers against Dylan’s sternum. “Nice and low. Breathe from your stomach.”

Dylan sucked in a breath, his swollen belly pushing out as it filled with air. “Hi, my name-”

“‘Hello’-”

His stomach drew in a great gulp of air, and Dylan spoke a whole octave lower than usual. “Hello, my name is Dylan.” He pumped Mr. Bernhardt’s hand vigorously.

“Well done, young man, well done,” Mr. Bernhardt smiled. “Excellent projection.”

“I always wanted a deeper voice,” Dylan said, his pitch even lower - flirting with bass.

“It’s something you’re capable of, it sounds like. Just keep speaking from down there. And never forget to project nice and loud. A confident man rarely needs to repeat himself.” Mr. Bernhardt smiled. “Now, let’s try a bigger shirt. That one is looking tight. It was extra slim fit anyway.”

Dylan looked at the options in Mr. Bernhardt’s hand and selected a deep inky blue. “Beautiful color,” he said, and he went into the fitting room to swap it out. The salesman was right; his current shirt was too snug, and the sleeves were too long too. As Dylan pulled his arms out of the sleeves, he stopped and looked in the mirror, then raised his arm over his head. His pit hair was back! He always shaved for swimming, but he must’ve forgotten to do it for a bit. It was a surprise his coach hadn’t said anything.

The new dress shirt fit much better. The cuffs were at his wrists, and the bottom buttons were tight over his stomach without buckling. He did notice the top half was a little loose, which he commented on as he exited the room. “This isn’t a shirt for women, is it?”

Mr. Bernhardt chuckled. “No, we don’t have any women’s clothes. You’d know because the buttons would be on the left side. Why?”

“It’s like there’s space for boobs in it.” Dylan plucked at the extra fabric, while Mr. Bernhardt helped him tuck the shirt in.

“Well, not all men have flat chests.”

“Yeah, I guess I figured they’d try to hide that…”

“Not if you go to the gym to build them!” Mr. Bernhardt reached down and opened the next button down from Dylan’s collar. “Imagine if this space was filled by a broad, thick chest. I think women would certainly notice that!”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dylan said, a hint of discomfort in his voice. His hand idly wandered up to the front of his shirt, over his nipple - it felt unusually prominent today; conical, with a little extra fluff behind it. Between that and his distended stomach, he wondered if he’d accidentally gained a little weight. But the Dylan looking back at him in the mirror did look good, he had to admit. A little stronger and meatier. He just wished he had longer legs.

Mr. Bernhardt seemed to notice. “Like what you see?”

Dylan remembered his advice: breath support, good projection. “Yes, very much,” he answered in a robust bass. “Something about the shirt makes my arms look bigger, too.” He raised his right arm in a flex and grinned at the small, but noticeable, muscle bunching up under the sleeve.

“You’re budding into a beefcake,” Mr. Bernhardt joked, which made Dylan grin broadly. Girls liked beefcakes. But he paused when he looked at his hand, raised proudly in a fist above his flexed bicep. His fingers looked short and thick, not long and delicate like he was used to. “Is something wrong?” Bernhardt asked.

“I just…” Dylan lowered his hand and looked at himself in the mirror. His torso looked square and the tight lower buttons of his shirt made it look like he was smuggling half a basketball under there. “...I look different.”

“Well of course you do, young man. You’re growing up. It’s a big change when a boy becomes a man. But it’s exciting, too, I’d hope.” Dylan nodded, and Bernhardt continued. “You’ve already overcome a big hurdle just by nature of wearing dress shirts every day. So many men continue their youthful habits far too long, wearing t-shirts and those silly hooded sweatshirts. But you’re unafraid to dress like the man you are - or the man you’re becoming, at least.”

“I already sound like one!” Dylan said proudly, his bass lower than ever. “I can’t believe it’s that easy to change how your voice-”

At that moment, a button popped off over Dylan’s stomach and made a soft plink against the mirror. He immediately turned bright red.

“Not a worry, we can sew that back on,” Mr. Bernhardt reassured him. “But let’s get you a bigger shirt.”

“I just had a big lunch,” Dylan maintained as he unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, revealing his small, round belly jutting out over the waistband of his trousers.

“Of course. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

Dylan didn’t respond because he was looking in the mirror. He looked so square. He didn’t have any waist to speak of, and with no shirt to support it, his spherical belly hung slightly over the button of his pants. When Mr. Bernhardt handed him a silky white shirt with thin green stripes, Dylan hurriedly put it on to hide his body, and tucked in the shirttails to lift up his stomach. He left the top two buttons open over his chest, because they wouldn’t close anyway - the buildup behind his nipples that he’d noticed earlier had spread across the base of his chest, creating a slight lift in the front of the shirt. “That’s better,” Dylan said, looking at himself. “I need to do some sit-ups tonight.”

“You probably won’t believe me, but I’ve heard women prefer a man with a belly,” Mr. Bernhardt said.

“Really?” Dylan asked, the loose fabric at the bottom of his shirt suddenly pulling taut as the buttons gapped slightly. “Why is that?”

“Well, I’m sure there’s multiple reasons. And of course, no woman speaks for all women. But there’s an association with strength, for one thing - strongmen have bellies - and also a lack of vanity.”

“That makes sense, I guess,” Dylan said, looking down when he felt the shirt fabric against his nipples. His chest wasn’t flat like he thought it was - it puffed out like he was taking in a deep breath.

“What matters more is how you think you look. If you like how you look, you will attract people.”

“I do!” Dylan said, buttons bulging. “I think I look great. I only feel comfortable in a dress shirt.”

“Do you feel comfortable in that one?”

Dylan looked at himself in the mirror - his buttons were making figure 8s all the way down his front. “No,” he chuckled, chest shaking.

“Let’s get you a new pair of trousers, too. You’re about to rip out of those.”

Dylan hadn’t even noticed his rump was compressed into the back of his pants, but Bernhardt was right - one wrong move and the seams were going to go. He went into the fitting room and carefully shimmied out of them, his butt cheeks shaking as he jostled back and forth. Then he unbuttoned his shirt and felt his belly heave out, unencumbered by tailored fabric. “Girls like bellies,” he whispered to himself, rubbing the basketball-sized sphere. He needed to get on the treadmill, lean down for swimming, but he felt so self conscious with his chest and belly shaking while he ran.

Mr. Bernhardt placed his selections over the top of the door: a purple-and-yellow checked dress shirt and dark gray slacks. Dylan obediently put them on and grinned as he felt his ass fill the roomy seat of the pants; the waist was big enough that it pulled up over the bottom of his belly, which slimmed his silhouette a bit as he tucked in his shirt. Once again, the top two buttons wouldn’t close, but that was fine - that was how Dylan wore his dress shirts anyway.

“I need a new belt,” Dylan said as he walked out, and Mr. Bernhardt handed him the longest one he’d ever seen. He thought it was a joke until it fit him perfectly.

The salesman nodded approvingly as he looked at Dylan. “You look magnificent.”

“I feel magnificent!” Dylan said, voice dropping even lower. He smiled at himself in the mirror, then turned to the side to look at his profile. It wasn’t what he expected, but it was balanced, with his butt and belly standing out at the same distance.

“Since you wear dress shirts and slacks every day, I’d imagine you need quite a few pairs - how about I pull some more selections for you tonight and you can come back tomorrow once you’re free?”

“Splendid!” Dylan said, chortling at his word choice. “Uh, I mean, cool. But yeah, that sounds good. I’ll wear this to school tomorrow.”

“The girls will be all over you.”

--------

The door made its sultry moan as Dylan returned the next day, drawing his attention once more - he’d forgotten about it til that moment. He held onto the bannister as he walked down the stairs into the store, moving carefully so that his belly didn’t pull him too far forward.

Mr. Bernhardt was there waiting for him, looking resplendent in a white shirt and violet tie. He smiled at the younger man. “Good to see you, Dylan!”

“It’s nice to be where someone understands me,” Dylan grumbled back.

“Oh dear - not a good day?”

“No,” Dylan said, dramatically sighing. “Everyone made fun of me at school. They kept asking why I was so dressed up. I reminded them that I wear dress shirts every day, but they still thought it was weird. The guys on the team kept poking my belly and telling me I needed to lose weight.” He ran a self-conscious hand over his prominent stomach, which looked like he’d consumed a watermelon whole. “And swim practice was bad, my times were way off and everyone was joking about my boobs. I don’t have boobs!”

“Mmmm.” Mr. Bernhardt listened with his arms crossed, a sympathetic expression on his handsome face. “I’m sorry that it was rough, but I’m happy to see you held firm. That shows true character.”

“Thanks,” Dylan mumbled.

“Perhaps we can try some more dramatic looks today to cheer you up. How about getting you in a pair of cufflinks?”

“What are those?” Dylan asked eagerly, stepping gingerly onto the stool. He flicked open the buttons of his shirt, and his belly unfurled: large, round, and wide, it stood proudly out in the open air as Dylan slid his shirt off his shoulders.

“You’ve put on some size, big man!” Mr. Bernhardt said admiringly.

“Have I? Thanks!” Dylan said, flexing his arms. “I’ve been lifting a lot lately.”

“Can’t wait to get you in a shirt that fits those gains properly. To answer your question, cufflinks are for French cuffs, or double cuffs - they fold back and the link is what clasps all the fabric together. It’s an elegant, sophisticated look.”

“Nice.” Dylan took the shirt Mr. Bernhardt was holding out: seafoam green with an extra-broad collar. The front tail hung down to his thighs so he could tuck it under his stomach, which he did as he stepped into a pair of white trousers that Mr. Bernhardt had laid out for him. As he pulled the pants up his body, they lifted his big butt properly and proudly. “I like this color combination a lot.” Then Dylan was quiet, watching as Bernhardt folded the shirt’s French cuffs back around his wrists, clasping them with big silver squares. “Wow! I really like these!” Dylan turned and looked at his big cuffs in the mirror, the same length as his thick hands. “Like...REALLY like them.”

“Oh? Do you think you’ll wear French cuffs every day?”

“Absolutely! Cufflinks every single day, no exceptions. Maybe they’ll distract from my boobs,” he joked.

“You don’t want to distract from your chest. It could be your best feature.”

“Yeah, right,” Dylan snorted.

“No, truly,” Bernhardt said, standing behind Dylan at the mirror. “Do you mind if I touch you for a moment?”

“No, that’s fine.” With Dylan’s consent, Bernhardt reached under Dylan’s arms and cupped his hands around the two mounds on Dylan’s chest. Dylan, without thinking, placed his own hands on top of Bernhardt’s.

“I know you’re thinking you want a smaller chest, but it’s actually just the opposite,” Bernhardt said into Dylan’s ear. “You want a bigger chest. That’s what will look the best on you.”

“Really?” Dylan said unsurely, feeling bits of his flesh squeezing through Bernhardt’s fingers. “I’m not...I don’t know. I don’t want boobs like a girl.”

“That’s why you want them bigger. When they’re bigger than any woman’s, nobody will compare the two.” Bernhardt’s fingers were being forced further apart. Dylan’s shirt began to tighten at the base of his chest.

“But...that’s big...if they’re bigger than any girl’s…”

“But isn’t that what you want? The biggest, manliest chest possible.”

Dylan’s legs buckled. His eyes rolled back. “Yes, I...I do want a manly chest, as long as it doesn’t look like a girl’s-”

“We’ll take care of that. For now, just focus on your chest growing. Can you feel it?”

“Yes!” The next button snapped off Dylan’s shirt. His pecs heaved out bulbous and large - fat and muscle swirling together under the skin with the goal of making the largest pecs possible. And Dylan’s were getting enormous.

“This is why you leave your collars open. You can’t button them.”

“Yes…”

“You love showing off your chest.”

Dylan arched his back and groaned, eyes clamped shut as he grinded his butt against Mr. Bernhardt’s crotch. His chest jiggled and swelled even larger. His shirt ripped. “I love it!” With his shirt torn open, his nipples could be seen stretching out over the comical mass of his muscle tits. Dylan’s rack was so big that it pulled him forward. He stumbled against the mirror, panting, leaving sweaty palm prints streaked across the glass.

“What just…” He blinked. “What just happened? I spaced out…”

“Your chest tore your shirt open. But no matter, I’m sure that happens often to you,” Bernhardt smiled, picking up a dress shirt with a bold windowpane pattern.

“All the time. These knockers…” Dylan said, cupping his hands around his pecs. “They’re so heavy. Did you know they’re bigger than any girl’s at school? My buddies and I went down the list and couldn’t think of one they didn’t beat.”

“I believe it.” Mr. Bernhardt helped Dylan button up his new shirt and put on his cufflinks. The top three buttons were left open over Dylan’s gigantic rack, pushing the muscles up. It looked like he had a pair of bowling balls bursting out of the front of his shirt.

He surveyed himself in the mirror. “They still kinda look like boobs.”

“Well, what’s one thing men have on their chests that women don’t?”

Dylan knew this. “Muscle!” he said, his pecs hardening and rounding further.

Bernhardt smiled. “Well, I suppose that’s another thing. But I was thinking hair.”

“Oh, I don’t want chest hair,” Dylan said, as a shadow began creeping out from the crevice of his pecs. “I’d have to shave it off for swimming.”

“Of course you want chest hair.” Mr. Bernhardt watched dozens of dainty brown curls burst out of Dylan’s chest, which the young man wasn’t seeing as he faced away from the mirror. “You’ll have chest hair far longer than you’ll be a swimmer. And girls love it.”

“They do?” Dylan grinned, and another layer of bristles emerged across his chest in shades of gold and red. A pattern was forming, fanning out over the massive expanse of his insane chest, swirling around his nipples and creeping up to his collarbone.

“Of course they do. Imagine lying in bed while a girl plays with your chest hair.”

Floof! Dylan now had a thick pelt on his chest, the curls protruding proudly between the open buttons. “That sounds great!”

“Embrace your body hair. If you’re a naturally hairy man, be proud of it.”

Dylan was running his fingers up and down between the valley of his furry pecs. “I just...have to shave it off for swimming…”

“Of course. I’d imagine swimming is somewhat difficult with your build.” Mr. Bernhardt patted the side of Dylan’s belly.

“Well, I’ve just been a little bloated the past couple days,” Dylan murmured. “It’ll flatten out…”

“No, Dylan, you’re never going to have a flat stomach again. You’re meant to have a large, manly belly.” Mr. Bernhardt ran his hand down under the spherical shape of Dylan’s hard, round gut. “You’re the type of man whose belly enters the room before he does. You sit further back from the table than everyone else. You open up a couple of buttons before eating a big meal.”

“Yes, always…” Dylan said slowly. “Otherwise they-”

Two buttons popped off Dylan’s shirt and bounced off the mirror. The bottom of his shirt spread open to reveal the underside of his growing muscle gut, a new outie bellybutton, and the latest addition: a line of brown hair leading up to the rug on his chest. “That’s all right, Dylan, that happens often to men like you. It’s the cost of looking so impressive. Look at yourself: you’re getting wider. Bigger. You’re such a virile, strong man.”

“Strong…” Dylan grinned. Another button burst. His belly heaved out into the open and gently pressed against the mirror, growing larger and rounder. It pushed up against the underside of his muscled jugs and shoved them higher, wedging part of his shirt in between all the mass. Dylan reached down to try to undo the button of his pants, but it burst off before he found it under his stomach. His waistline was expanding too fast. “Girls love strong guys.”

A loud rip emanated from behind him, as his ass ballooned out of the back of his pants and tore them open. Dylan grunted from the pressure and then smiled from the relief, as his bottom expanded into a huge square boulder, with two cheeks as big and solid as his pecs. He slapped both hands on his stomach and groaned happily, as sweat dripped down his face and a light coating of brown hair prickled out across his massive ass cheeks.

“It’s wonderful how your body brings you so much pleasure.”

“I love it,” Dylan moaned. “I fucking LOVE IT…”

“I can see why. Some men are afraid that adding muscle will make them look shorter. I disagree, and you’re proof of that. You’re as wide and as deep as you are tall. Amazing to witness.”

“It’s...hard to find...clothes that fit…” Dylan panted.

“Yes, you’ll require everything custom. But since you only wear dress shirts and pants, you can order multiple at once when your measurements and patterns are on file. They’ll fit you perfectly.” Mr. Bernhardt rubbed his hand on Dylan’s belly. “But that can wait until tomorrow. You’re still a growing boy. For now, let’s get this shirt off you.”

“Yes, let’s,” Dylan murmured. His eyes were still shut, his feet wobbly. He rolled his shoulders back and wiggled back and forth as Bernhardt helped slide the shirt off him, which made his chest and belly bounce and heave. Up and down, up and down. But the shirt was simply too small, and Dylan’s arms ripped the sleeves as he pulled them free. Like the rest of his body, Dylan’s arms were now pure mass; his biceps bulged freakishly large as he shook them out, a testament to size and strength. “I’m so sorry,” he said self-consciously, looking at the tattered rag in Bernhardt’s hand.

“As soon as I saw you walk in here, I knew this sort of thing would happen. No apology necessary.”

Dylan was looking at his shirtless torso in the mirror. Pecs the size of gallon jugs rested on top of his magnificent, awe-inspiring ball belly. But he was more concerned with his forearms - thick, like a man’s calf - and what was on them. “I forgot how hairy I was,” he said, running his fingers through the dense brown follicles that covered his arms. He analyzed the stray curls dotting his trap muscles as Mr. Bernhardt retrieved two more shirts for him. “I have hair on my shoulders…”

“Yes, you’re a very hirsute man. It must make you proud.”

“It does.” Dylan looked at the lilac shirt Mr. Bernhardt was holding. “What is that, a dress? Why is it so long? It comes almost to my knees.”

“Because of your belly, of course. Once you tuck it in it will look wonderful. It just needs extra length and buttons to make that trip.”

“Oh right...I forgot I always tuck in my shirts.” Dylan pulled the two sides of his shirt together, grinning at the tightness of the buttons over his stomach, and his beautiful hairy chest on display through the open collar. He gently lifted his belly and tucked his shirt in as he always did, pulling up the generous waistline of the new trousers he’d been handed by the salesman. Then he lifted his feet one at a time and allowed Bernhardt to slide silky nylons up over his wide, thick feet, which helped his feet slip into a pair of brown leather captoes. “Where are my sneakers?”

“Sneakers? Why would you have sneakers? You only wear dress shoes.”

“Oh, of course. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Dylan enjoyed the view of the big man at his feet, tying his shoelaces. He liked wearing dress shoes because they had a slight heel, adding about an inch to his height. When you were 5’8, you needed all the help you could get. Walking around the shop, his leather soles clicking sharply against the wood floor, Dylan felt powerful. He had to walk straight and tall, leaning slightly back to counter the size of his chest and belly, which jutted out proudly in front of him. His powerful arms rippled through his sleeves as they swung at 45 degree angles, far too large to rest flat.

“I’ll see you tomorrow for your final fitting,” Mr. Bernhardt smiled.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Dylan rumbled, shaking the man’s hand.

--------

From inside the store, Mr. Bernhardt could see Dylan crossing the street the next day. Every head turned to look at the young man as he walked past them. He was wearing a pristine white dress shirt tucked into sharp maroon trousers, smartly containing his belly, which was the size of an exercise ball. The open top buttons of his shirt bared two astonishing pecs as big as Dylan’s head, his chest pelt shining radiantly in the sunlight. He couldn’t slouch when he walked, due to his build, but his face was downturned, a fact that Mr. Bernhardt commented on once Dylan had entered the store and the door had stopped its welcoming moan.

“Bad day?”

“Terrible,” Dylan grunted, stomping down the stairs and straight to the back of the store, where he eased his weight down onto a bench. His belly rested on his thighs, and he folded his arms across it, displaying his chunky cufflinks.

“Why so bad?”

Dylan was quiet for a few moments, letting his chin sit on top of his hairy pecs as he collected his thoughts. “Where to begin. When I got home and sat down for dinner with my family, I broke the chair. We had to bring an easy chair in from the living room for me to sit on.” Dylan sighed. “But at least I fit in it. I don’t fit in the desks at school. And even when they got me a rolling chair, my butt was too wide for it. Everyone comments on my clothes.” He raised his wrists up to show his cufflinks. “These seem to really interest people.”

“I’m glad you’re educating your peers on how elegant men dress.”

Dylan snorted. “If they’re paying attention. When I was getting changed for swimming, everyone was talking about how hairy I am and how big my belly is. I think the only compliment was one guy saying he wished he had arms as big as mine. But the rest of the time...god, I felt so stupid. I couldn’t pull my jammers up high enough, so all my pubes were coming out of the top. Everyone pointed that out too. Another dude said I have pepperoni nipples. And standing on the side of the pool, looking at all those flat stomachs...and then me...I felt so out of place. I felt out of place all day. People my age are so vapid. No one wanted to talk about politics, or business...my friends at lunch were talking about movies, so I tried to steer the conversation to classic cinema, but no one knew what I was talking about. And all my classes were so uninteresting. I knew everything already. I feel like I’ve gotten all I can out of school.”

“Part of becoming a man is embracing that transformation,” Mr. Bernhardt smiled. “It’s good that it isn’t a struggle for you.”

“Not at all! I wish it were happening even faster,” Dylan murmured. “I can’t wait to feel like a man.”

“There are ways to hasten it,” Mr. Bernhardt said thoughtfully. “For example, growing facial hair can change your self perception.”

“I don’t have any,” Dylan said. “I’d grow some if I could, but I can’t. Isn’t that funny, since I’m so hairy? I’m sure someday,” he said wistfully.

Mr. Bernhardt knelt down next to Dylan and pressed his fingers into the cleft between Dylan’s pecs, his fingers vanishing into the thick hair as if dipping into an inkwell. As he moved his brawny hand up toward Dylan’s face, he asked, “What kind of facial hair would you grow, if you could?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dylan said, as Mr. Bernhardt brushed his fingers across his smooth upper lip. “Something kind of...old-fashioned, perhaps.” A smattering of peach fuzz was already present as Mr. Bernhardt pulled his fingers away, and more began to break through the skin as Dylan pondered. “Maybe a mustache?”

“I think you’d look wonderful with a mustache, Dylan,” Mr. Bernhardt smiled, and Dylan smiled back, as the wispy hairs over his mouth grew in number.

“None of my friends have a mustache yet,” Dylan said. “I’d want a big one, so everyone noticed--WHACHOO!” Dylan’s head snapped down and back up, his chin knocking against his pecs and making them jostle. The arrival of true whiskers all at once had tickled his nostrils fiercely. Dylan rubbed under his nose, the movement making scratching noises as his mustache took root. Already, it was in a state that most men would consider satisfactory, but not for a man as hirsute and macho as Dylan. And so the whiskers continued to bloom, increasing in number and volume, lengthening as they unfurled across his upper lip and began to delicately creep past that.

Once the whiskers hit full capacity above Dylan’s mouth, the mustache continued to grow, striving for something more exceptional and elaborate. The ends traveled out from his lips at angles, stretching down to his jaw and then bouncing back up toward his cheeks. The enormous handlebar mustache suited Dylan. It had almost as much coverage as a beard - outrageous enough that it wouldn’t look out of place in a German oompah band. Were it not for the whiskers parting neatly in the center, his entire mouth would’ve been hidden. Only his lower lip was visible as he said, “It takes a lot of maintenance, but it’s worth it.”

“It’s magnificent,” Mr. Bernhardt agreed.

Dylan’s massive handlebar mustache swelled even bigger at the compliment. He reached up and twirled one of the curly ends around his finger. An erection popped up in his trousers. “Mmm.”

“What else makes you feel like a man, Dylan?” Mr. Bernhardt asked.

“My muscles. My clothes. My mustache,” Dylan itemized. “My voice. And my...well...my manhood.” He moved his legs further apart, bulge swelling between his meaty thighs.

“Do you dress to the right or to the left?”

“I dress to the right,” Dylan said, and a huge appendage shot down the inside of his leg, making a long, hard lump in the fabric of his pants. He groaned happily and pushed his hips forward, balls ballooning big enough to make a prominent moose knuckle. “I love...love being a man…”

“I can see why. You must inspire all the men you meet.”

“Maybe someday, when I’m older,” Dylan mused. “I haven’t done much yet.”

“Well, you can always act older. You’re an old soul at heart.”

“That’s certainly true.” Dylan reached under his belly to adjust the huge bulge in his pants. Its girth - too big to fit even in his large mitt - made him grin.

“Perhaps a test? I can see a young guy coming in here now to pick something up. Why don’t you help him out?”

“Me?” Dylan’s eyebrows raised as the front door to the shop opened, and a blond guy walked in. “But I...I don’t know much about all of this.”

“Sure you do. It comes naturally to you. You only wear formal clothes, so you know all about them.” Mr. Bernhardt removed the tape measure hanging around his neck and draped it across Dylan’s massive yoke. Then he took off his wrist pincushion and slid it onto Dylan’s left wrist.

Dylan stood up nervously, but when Mr. Bernhardt reminded him “Confidence,” he rolled his shoulders back and let his belly drive him forward like an engine. He relished in the peripheral sight of his pecs plowing forward toward the guy walking in. He hoped the customer was impressed by his mass.

It was only when he locked eyes with the guy that Dylan realized he knew him. Jack Glover. Jack graduated from Dylan’s high school two years prior. They’d only interacted briefly, and Dylan always thought Jack was kind of nerdy. But something had happened to Jack in college, something wonderful. He looked just like himself, and yet he looked...better. His skin was clear and tan, no longer dotted with awkward blemishes. His blond hair was lustrous and thick, styled perfectly. His features were sharper: jutting jawline, strong cheekbones. And he’d filled out - square shoulders and toned arms. It was all enhanced by another couple inches of height that he’d found after graduating high school. College had turned Jack beautiful.

“Hello, young man!” Dylan boomed, not acknowledging they knew each other, and Jack made no recognition either. “What brings you in today?”

“Hi,” Jack smiled - another change. He’d had braces before. Now his teeth were sparkling and perfect. “Your mustache is incredible, sir.”

Dylan smiled, both at the compliment and being called ‘sir.’ “Thank you very much. How can I help you?”

“I’m just kinda looking...I have this thing at my frat tomorrow night that I’m supposed to dress up for.”

Aha, so Jack pledged a frat. That somewhat explained the makeover - that and just growing up. Dylan had been worried about maturing and moving out, but seeing how it improved Jack reassured him. Adulthood came with more responsibilities, but there were good things too, like full independence. And the confidence! Jack was so naturally handsome and charismatic now, and Dylan knew that would happen to him too.

“A fraternity formal! Ah, the good old days,” Dylan said. “I have some shirts I think would be perfect for you. Do you mind if I get your measurements?”

“Oh, sure - I don’t know them so probably a good idea…”

“Most young men don’t,” Dylan chuckled, whipping his tape measure around Jack’s neck to get his collar size. “And you’re often still growing, so they’re apt to change. Raise your arms for me so I can measure your chest? Thank you.”

“Some of my old shirts don’t fit because I’ve been working out,” Jack said, clearly proud. “So I thought it’d be time for a new one or two.”

“Absolutely! I can tell you’re an athlete.” Dylan bumped into Jack as he measured Jack’s arm length. “Apologies for the belly, it can get in the way.”

“No worries. Are you a bodybuilder, sir?”

“In a manner of speaking. I like being big,” Dylan responded. He patted his ball gut. “Don’t think this would get me very far onstage. But we had to move the tables in here further apart so I could walk around!” He was enjoying his rapport with Jack, especially because Jack seemed to genuinely believe he was talking to an older man, not someone two years younger. He could feel Jack’s regard for him, which was validating. Girls had to like a man who commanded respect.

“That’s a good problem to have,” Jack said, and Dylan nodded as he measured the frat boy’s waist.

“I’ll be right back with a shirt for you to try on, son,” Dylan said, lumbering off to the back with Jack’s measurements in mind. He moved carefully, angling his huge frame so he didn’t knock down any displays, and enjoying the peripheral view of his buttons straining to hold in all his beef. “How am I doing?” he asked Mr. Bernhardt as he flipped through a stack of shirts.

“Wonderfully. You seem like a real tailor. He admires you.”

“He does!” Dylan agreed. “I don’t think he realizes we know each other. He’s a couple years older than me but we went to the same school.”

“Well, you’ve both grown up. I was wondering why you hadn’t introduced yourself.”

“Yeah, I didn’t want to say my name.” Dylan found the shirt he was looking for, an exquisite blue-and-white striped that would be perfect for a handsome young guy like Jack. “This will look wonderful on him.”

“I agree. Maybe if you don’t want to introduce yourself, make up a pseudonym?”

“A pseudonym?” Dylan blinked. “Like what? Paul or something?”

“You don’t seem like a Paul.” Mr. Bernhardt stroked his chin. “Saul, though. That would work. Tell him your name is Saul.”

“Saul! I like that,” Dylan nodded. He looked in a nearby mirror before he walked back to Jack, checking his mustache and making sure his nipples were inside his shirt. Fuck, he was hot. A hulking stud, aside from a few gray hairs sticking out of his head - without thinking, he reached up and plucked them right out of his scalp. Bernhardt was right: he looked like a Saul. Stout and strong and outrageously masculine. Even when he turned away from the mirror, his reflection was seared in his mind. He’d never seen a man built like he was. Those massive pecs atop a big ball belly. Arms like tree trunks. All that glorious chest hair. The sight of himself made his bulge swell in his pants and got his nipples hard. An entirely different look than the Prince Charming thing Jack had going on, but no less beautiful. “Here, son,” Dylan rumbled, handing his selected shirt to Jack. “This will have the girls all over you.”

“You promise?” Jack grinned, heading off to the fitting room.

“I wouldn’t steer you wrong.” Dylan waited outside while Jack got changed. He was right: the young frat boy looked great in the shirt. Jack stood in front of the three-way mirror, eyes wide, and Dylan recognized the expression: Jack was seeing himself as a man for the first time, too. “You seem to like it,” Dylan observed, his deep voice soothing.

“I look great,” Jack murmured, followed by an awkward laugh. “I’m not used to looking like this.”

“Give me 24 hours to alter it and I’ll make it even better,” Dylan said. He plucked a pin from the cushion around his wrist and marked darts in the shirt, tightening it in the back to show off Jack’s impressive shoulder-to-waist ratio. “See, this squares off your shoulders and fits your chest. The open collar draws the eye to your neck and jaw. It’s a great shirt for you.”

“I’ve never had anything altered before,” Jack said.

“I’ll never understand why young guys put all this work in at the gym and then cover it up in baggy clothes and shirts that don’t fit. You’re in your prime. Show it off!”

“You must have all your stuff altered?”

“I have all mine MADE, son,” Dylan laughed. “Nothing off the rack fits me, but I like it that way. It’s my own fault I’m built like a refrigerator with legs. And this way, I can get everything exactly how I want it: the fabric, collar style, cuffs, buttons.”

“I like those,” Jack said, pointing to Dylan’s cufflinks. “I couldn’t pull them off, but they look cool.”

“They’re usually an older man’s game,” Dylan agreed. “When the time comes, you’ll know. For now, you’ll be the best dressed brother at the formal tomorrow. Give me til 1pm tomorrow for the alterations and then you can come pick it up.”

“Sounds good, sir.”

“You can call me Saul,” Dylan said, extending his giant hand.

“I’m Jack.”

“Nice strong grip, young man,” Dylan smiled. “They teach you that at the fraternity?”

“No, that’s just my dad,” Jack said. “He would make me practice with him.”

“Time well spent. Now, you can take that shirt off and I’ll ring you up, then you can come back for it tomorrow.” Dylan walked to the register and, as he waited for Jack to change into his regular clothes, wrote up the invoice. He liked that the store used a vintage cash register and handwritten receipts; it gave the whole affair an old-fashioned touch, even if they entered all sales into a computer later for inventory purposes. He signed the invoice with a large cursive ‘S’, for Saul.

As Jack left, receipt in hand, Dylan headed back to Mr. Bernhardt and sat down with a loud exhale, easing onto the bench with his hands on his knees. “How’d I do?”

Mr. Bernhardt smiled. “You’ve become a tailor! And an excellent salesman, too. This is your calling.”

Dylan chuckled and felt his buttons strain, which made him erect. He turned to make a crack about being a tailor to Mr. Bernhardt, but then he saw his reflection in the mirror behind the man and felt his blood run cold. Dylan raised his hands to his head. His fingers shook. “I’m...I’m…”

“Hm?”

“I’m BALD,” Dylan said, running his palm over the smooth skin on his head. The hair on the sides of his head was long, combed neatly back, encircling his skull like a laurel wreath. The rest of his dome was completely hairless. He was profoundly bald. “Where’d it go?!”

“You’ve developed male pattern baldness, yes. It’s to be expected for a man like you. Don’t you feel more handsome? It’s yet another assertion of your masculinity. It fits you perfectly.”

“I look so different…”

“Of course you do! But don’t you want to? Why would you grow a mustache like that and go bald if you didn’t want to look different? Your body is preparing you to become an older man. A distinguished man. You’re swarthy and virile. You were always meant to be bald. That was one of the many ways that Jack knew to respect you.” Mr. Bernhardt patted Dylan’s shoulders reassuringly. “As soon as Jack saw you, he knew you were a man he admired. Your muscles, your body hair, your voice, your clothing. Everything is curated for you to command respect everywhere you go, especially from young men. You’ll create an entire customer base just by nature of them revering you, wanting to be you.”

Dylan kept rubbing his scalp. An erection visibly tented his elegant pants. “Everyone admires Saul,” he murmured.

“Yes, they do,” Mr. Bernhardt smiled. “And you’re becoming him. How wonderful is that?”

“So wonderful,” Dylan smiled. “Saul Francis Goddard.” He ran his fingers over the ‘SFG’ embroidered on his bleached white cuff. To do so required him to hold his arm away from his body at an angle, so that his monstrous bicep cleared the side of his bulbous chest.

Mr. Bernhardt, standing over Dylan, cupped the young man’s chin and tilted his head upward. “Look how incredible you’ve become,” he said, looking down at Dylan’s face atop an unbelievable, incongruous physique. “You’re a masterpiece.”

Dylan smiled dazedly up, drinking in the sight of Mr. Bernhardt’s shirt stretched tight over his muscles. “Do you think girls will be impressed?” he said.

“Undoubtedly, but do you care about girls?”

“I…” Dylan shut his eyes. His lip twitched. “I like...girls…”

“What do you like about girls?”

“Their...um, their big chests.”

“Your chest is bigger than any of theirs. Visualize the kind of chest you like the most.”

Dylan imagined a giant chest crammed inside a red polo shirt, all the buttons undone, with dark chest hair curling out into view. He reached up and fondled his own pecs through his silky shirt. “Mmm…”

“You’re imagining a man’s chest, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes…”

“A man as obsessed with size and strength as you can only be understood by other men. That’s who you’re sexually attracted to. Huge, hulking, hairy, well-dressed men like yourself.”

Dylan moaned. Sweat popped out across his brow. He could smell the sweat of men, feel their muscles, see their clothes straining. “Girls like gay guys,” he whispered hopefully.

“Of course they do. And they like you, a proud homosexual man.”

Dylan nodded. He knew he was gay. He was very proud to be a gay man. He organized events, marched in parades, mentored younger gay men, and even sang bass in the local Gay Men’s Chorus. He loved being gay. He didn’t want to be straight. There was nothing better than being worshipped by his fellow men.

“Your face is going to change now, Saul,” Mr. Bernhardt said, continuing to hold Dylan’s chin with one hand, and stroking his bald scalp with the other. “Are you ready for that?”

“My face?” Dylan mumbled. “H-how would it change?”

“Faces change when they age, and it’s time for you to become an older man. A mature man.”

“Oh,” Dylan said, not quite understanding. “But I’m young.”

“Not for much longer. You’re starting to get some silver in your chest hair. It looks wonderful. Your mustache, too.”

“But I want to be handsome,” Dylan said.

“Oh, you’ll be gloriously handsome,” Mr. Bernhardt assured him. “You’re the kind of man who gets better looking the older he gets. You don’t have a boyish face, so it didn’t suit you when you were a boy. Now that you’re a man, you’re coming into your own.” Bernhardt’s thumb gently rubbed against Dylan’s chin, making it swell and bulge outward into a round ball that mimicked the shape and projection of his gut. His fingers delicately slid to the sides of Dylan’s face, and as they caressed the bone, Dylan’s jaw widened...and widened...and grew wider still, spreading from an afterthought into the dominant feature of his face. The blunt, blocky angles pushed out from Dylan’s bullneck, and a thick pad of muscle puffed out under his chin to complete the look.

The extreme growth of Dylan’s jawbone pulled his mouth broad and flat, tucking his lips a bit further under his mustache. The whiskers rustled from a blast of hot air out of Dylan’s nostrils, which were reshaping to fit his new, bigger nose. As it grew more prominent, it pulled Dylan’s browbone forward and down, intensifying his features and allowing his eyebrows to thicken with new bristles.

“Feels good,” Dylan mumbled, as Bernhardt’s fingers massaged his face, dancing across new crows feet and a smattering of wrinkles around his mouth. “I’m so warm…”

“You’re growing some more body hair. It happens to men as they age. I can see a few hairs poking out between the buttons over your stomach.”

“That happens. I’m a hairy man,” Dylan said proudly. “I have a hairy belly.”

“You love being older, don’t you?”

“Yes. I just keep getting bigger and manlier.” Dylan opened his eyes - now a rich brown - and saw Bernhardt’s face an inch from his. He smiled, and Bernhardt smiled too. Then they kissed. Dylan shoved his tongue into the now younger man’s mouth, enjoying the taste, before pulling away. “You didn’t ask permission, son,” he growled.

Bernhardt sank down to his knees, eye to eye with Dylan as he started opening the older man’s shirt buttons. “I apologize, Saul-”

“‘I apologize, sir,’” Dylan corrected, his tone firm but his eyes playful.

“May I suck your cock, sir?”

“Yes.” Dylan’s fly opened on its own, and beneath his belly extended his massive, hard dick.

“This will fully change you, Saul. Are you ready?”

“Of course, young man.” Dylan loved playing up his age with his conquests. Mr. Bernhardt’s warning didn’t concern him much - he felt exactly like himself. He recognized the manly growl he made when Bernhardt kissed the head of his cock, and the soft moan when the big man took it in his mouth. What Dylan didn’t realize was how the universe was adjusting to the new him; how the store he was in was becoming his own business. Memories of Dylan adjusted to memories of Dylan with a big ball belly, then of Dylan with a big ball belly constrained by a dress shirt, then of a dignified older man in Dylan’s place. The timeline required to make a middle-aged stud shifted Dylan’s schooling back decades, filling his mind with more world history and happy memories, allowing his confidence to grow into the swaggering dominance of the muscle daddy he now was. Every bit of youthful insecurity was getting sucked out of him. And fuck, did it feel amazing. Dylan pressed his bald head against the wall and groaned with joy as he endured one last bit of growth, more mass adding itself to his body as the hundreds of dress shirts and pants in the closet of his new home grew in size to fit him. His hairy balls smacked against Bernhardt’s chin, an assertion of his control over the man, and he grinned as he felt cum start sneaking out of the corners of his benefactor’s mouth. For Dylan, it was a new feeling; for Saul, exceedingly familiar, and both emotions made him equally happy.

Saul felt completely triumphant. Despite Bernhardt’s warning, he hadn’t changed at all. He was the same middle-aged musclebound ball-gutted hung businessbear dandy he’d been at the start of the week-

“UNNNGGGGGGHGHHHHHHHH…”

An enormous load blew out of him, his biggest in years, soaking the floor and splattering his body with his own seed, with even his mustache accumulating a couple droplets. Saul fell to his side in exhaustion, his eyes shut as his white shirt rebuilt itself around his body, and his maroon pants slid up his tree-trunk legs.

When he woke up, he was fondling his own chest. Saul yawned and sighed happily, feeling like a bear coming out of hibernation. It took considerable effort to stand up, but he finally did so, though he knocked over a stack of shirts with his ass when he turned around.

After picking up the shirts and fastidiously checking his appearance - collar standing up, cufflinks straight, shirt tucked in, hair (what was left of it) smoothed down - Saul lumbered to the register and looked around his store, his belly pressing against the counter. “Is anyone here?” he rumbled. It felt silly to ask, because he knew he worked alone on weekday afternoons. But he remembered someone being here, and he had a glimmer of a memory of walking in and being greeted by an employee. But he did all the hiring, he knew all the staff...he was the owner of the goddamn store, after all. And the big, handsome man he could sort of envision was not one of his employees.

The button placket of his shirt was like an arrow pointing to a small box on the counter. Saul scooped the box up - it felt inconsequential in his huge palm. Inside were a pair of silver cufflinks that bore the design of a muscular, nude bodybuilder. At the bottom of the box was the brand’s name, embossed in gold script: Bernhardt. Saul didn’t recognize the company nor the product. He loved the cufflinks himself, but they felt a bit lewd for him to be selling. Perhaps one of his employees had ordered them as a sample. He slid the small box into his pocket and set a mental reminder to ask his staff about it later. If no one had an answer, then he’d keep them for his personal use. Just the sight of them had boned him up, which was impressive considering he’d just blown a load...except, when would he have done that? He’d been working all day.

“You’re losing it, Goddard,” Saul grunted to himself, pushing away the thought that he’d had his dick sucked in the middle of the store. That had to have been a dream, but why the hell had he fallen asleep while he was working? It was an unprofessional thing to do, and Saul prided himself on his professionalism. He punished himself by running clothes from the fitting room back onto the sales floor, a task he hated and normally left for his staff.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sensual groan of the front door, and in walked two young men whose eyes went wide as they saw Saul approaching. He loved that look: the look of admiration and respect. “Hello, fellows,” he boomed, crossing his beastly arms across his chest and pushing his biceps against the crisp fabric of his shirt. He always made sure the ‘SFG’ monogram on his cuff was visible when he said, “Welcome to S.F. Goddard. I’m Saul and I’m here to help you.”

#balding #belly #beard #sartorial #oblivious #hirsute #weight gain #age progression #muscle growth #suit #dress shirt

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Inheritance

I’m back! Thank you all for staying with me during my long hiatus! I truly appreciate it and I hope you enjoy the story!

Ko-fi |Twitter

6:30 PM seemed like a rather late time for a job interview, but it had been the only option to work with Garrett Carmichael’s hectic schedule. An ambitious high school senior, his weekday afternoons were usually fully booked. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, he participated on his high school’s Quiz Bowl team and on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, he attended meetings with his math league. Unfortunately, being a productive, ambitious scholar was not a lucrative venture, save for the college scholarships he was already applying for. Garrett’s nonexistent financials were what brought him to apply for the position of a waiter at his town’s local banquet hall.

He also needed something to balance out the drag that high school had become. He didn’t mind the schoolwork or classes as much, but none of his few close friends - or acquaintances even - shared his same classes. It felt like he was just going through the motions, forced to interact with people who he didn’t care for. The absolute worst was his fourth hour in World History where a gaggle of dim-witted football jocks made the class a living hell. They weren’t physical with him by any means, but they were the type to whisper under their breaths and mock the way he talked or his answers to questions. As a result, it made him far more apprehensive to raise his hand whenever he knew the answer in class. School sucked and on the weekends, he was free. Too free. Having abundant free time was nice, but it wasn’t like he had many hobbies outside of playing videogames with his fellow math league teammates or doing deep-dives on the internet about the multitude of scientific topics that interested him. Not only did he need money, but he just wanted to get out of the house for a few hours and not watch the Saturdays and Sundays glide past him every week.

The application process had been momentarily bewildering for Garrett who had no clue how the website worked and he had to ask his mom what the digits to his social security number were. Every other high schooler his age had gotten a job already and he felt dumb for getting daunted by the simple process, but ultimately he persevered. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he stepped out of his car and walked to the front door.

“Wow,” Garrett said with awe as he stepped into the nicest waiting room he’d ever seen. An immaculate tessellation of white and yellow rectangles adorned the ceilings accented by bold, curving polygons painted emerald green to resemble vines. The design appeared to extend far beyond the puny waiting room he was in and across the ceilings and walls of the main banquet hall, which he could see for a long distance.

“Can I help you, sir?” croaked a male voice.

Garrett looked back in front of him to see a man sitting inside a booth in the corner labeled “COAT CHECK” - the only other fixture in this small, open space. He had broad shoulders and was wearing a fancy tuxedo, nearly filling up the whole window with his width. “I-ummm,” Garrett coughed and cleared his throat, peeved at the inopportune phlegm that had formed. “I’m here for a job interview to be a waiter here.”

A warm feeling of dread filled Garrett’s body when the coat check guy just looked at him with a puzzled look on his face. Garrett remembered the man he’d been messaging in his emails. “I’m supposed to talk to a uhh…Mr. Clifford Atkinson.”

Thankfully, the man’s stoic face lit up with recognition. “Oh yes, he should be here within the next 15 minutes. His reservation starts at 6:45.”

“Oh, okay,” Garrett replied. He adjusted his glasses and wondered why the Clifford guy needed a reservation. Didn’t he work here?

“You can take a seat over there and wait for him if you’d like,” the man offered with a faint smile.

Garrett curtly nodded and quickly sat down in one of the few dark red office chairs outside the front door. He pulled out his phone and searched for that email he’d received from Mr. Atkinson. He could’ve sworn the email he’d received yesterday had told him to arrive at 6:30, but unfortunately it was nowhere to be found no matter how hard he searched for it. Crud. He must’ve deleted it or something. Emails were weird.

The next ten minutes ticked slowly by, leaving Garrett with minimal entertainment besides a few men and women who intermittently came and went through the front door. They were dressed up in tuxedos just like the coat check guy. It was intimidating the way they moved to and fro. Their solid black jackets with stark white shirts bounced up and down with their movements, taunting Garrett with their sophistication. A layer of sweat formed around him as he realized he might’ve come to this thing underdressed. His casual attire of a light blue short-sleeved shirt, a Mandalorian Star Wars tie, and brown cargo shorts clashed heavily with the fashion here. He’d just gotten here and he’d already made a mistake. It was too late to go back home and change clothes so he decided to drown his fears by scrolling through social media. As he was catching up on IGN’s most recent game review, the door flung open. Garrett glanced up, expecting to see Mr. Atkinson, but instead, the last person he wanted to see stumbled inside.

A tall, muscular jock stepped inside, dressed in a light gray short-sleeve t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, and of course - a signature backward cap. “Hey, what’s up man?” he announced as he swaggered up to the man in the coat check booth. “I’m here for the uh…waiter position.”

Garrett’s blood ran cold. It was Devon Kearney - one of the dumbest guys alive and unfortunately, the most prolific nuisance in his fourth-hour World History class. Every day, his deep, stupid voice filled the room as he tended to share every impulsive thought he had with the other football jocks in the class. He was a real menace, rude to everyone besides his little clique or, of course, girls in the class he found attractive.

Garrett watched the employee gesture for Devon to sit in the chair next to him and a wave of fear filled his body as the jock’s face lit up.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” he boomed as he sidled over to Garrett, causing heads to turn. “You’re that kid from history class!” He snapped his fingers, trying to remember. “Carmichael, Carmichael, Carmichael. Shit, what’s the first name?” he asked aloud as if Garrett wasn’t even there.

Garrett clenched his fists. “My name is Garrett, you big-”

“Ah! That’s right, that’s right! I knew that!” Devon roared as he sat down two chairs away from his far skinnier comrade. “You look like a Garrett too,” he snickered with a cocky sneer that made Garrett want to strangle him. Devon was so fake, trying to act all cool and friendly with him as if he hadn’t spent the last three months mocking Garrett in class. Most of the time when Garrett raised his hand to answer a question, he could hear Devon or one of his stupid friends whisper to each other and giggle. Those jerks. Garrett couldn’t wait till he graduated in May and never had to interact with those bozos ever again.

“So what the hell are you doing here, man? Are you applying for a job too?” Devon asked.

Garrett sighed. He wanted to tell Devon to screw off, but that sure as hell wouldn’t go over well at school tomorrow. It wasn’t like the jocks had ever been physical, but he didn’t want to find out. “I’m applying for a job,” he said, not even bothering to continue eye contact.

“No way! What position? Dishwasher?”

Garrett held his ground as he felt the spit in the back of his throat dry up. “Waiter.”

“You? A waiter? No way, that’s the role I’m training for too!” Devon let out a boisterous laugh that made Garrett’s skin crawl. “Hey, I support it man, but no offense, I…uh….I don’t see you being super social. Being a waiter means like…talking to people a bunch and making ‘em your friends to get stacks of tip money! And at a real fancy place like this, they’re gonna have fat bank accounts! No cap!”

“Whatever,” Garrett huffed quietly, cringing at the “no cap” comment the most. He turned his phone back on and released an embittered breath.

“It is what it is, man,” Devon snarkily added. He began talking, mostly to himself, again as he pulled out his phone. “Oh man, wait till I tell the boys about who I found at the banquet hall!”

An awkward silence filled the hall once more, save for Devon’s subtly obnoxious open-mouthed breathing, but moments later, the door swung open and a middle-aged man waddled inside. Garrett caught a faint glimpse of his massive torso out of the corner of his eye. His silver-haired head looked like a snow-covered peak nestled in between the two mountains that were his massive shoulders. Even more shocking was the fact that his pecs were even larger than his bodybuilder-level deltoids. They had entered the room before he did and only drew more attention as they were thinly veiled beneath the strained white dress shirt he was wearing. The top three buttons were undone, revealing a scandalous amount of male cleavage complemented by a light dusting of silver chest hair.

Garrett noticed that even Devon was also gawking at this colossal guy as he trudged over to the coat check. He leaned over on the desk as he talked with the attendant and Garrett’s cheeks turned pink as he gazed at the man’s massive, imperious figure. Especially his round butt. The dude was absolutely caked up! The buttons of the back pockets of his blue dress pants looked ready to snap. He’d never even considered the idea that men could have butts that big.

All of a sudden, the hefty stranger spun around on his heels and made direct eye contact with the two teenagers who were obviously gawking at his size. His jaw was the size of a lantern and his eyes had a piercing sapphire coloration to them. He looked like he was plucked straight from Hollywood or something. “Ah, Gentlemen, welcome! It’s nice to see you!” he boomed, the volume of his bassy voice sending a shockwave through Garrett and Devon.

“Nice to see you too, man!” Devon replied, clearly in awe of the massive male specimen in front of him

“Sorry about the outfit, boys. These tits of mine have been fighting me to get dressed today,” Cliff said with a playful jiggle of his partially-exposed pecs. “Getting dressed up is quite the hassle isn’t it?”

“Yeah for sure!” Devon said, intentionally lowering his voice to match the other man’s volume. What a kiss-ass. Garrett didn’t even know how to react. He just watched as the other young man hopped to his feet and extended his arm out for a handshake to which the man obliged. “I’m Devon.”

“Cliff Atkinson,” the man boomed as he shook Devon’s hand. Garrett promptly hopped to his feet as the man turned to him. “And who might you be?” he asked. “Just kidding, Garrett. I know who you are. Bring it in. I’m so proud of you.”

Before Garrett could even process what was happening, the man had pulled him in for a bear hug. It was unbelievably awkward, considering he had to hunch over to get down to Garrett’s 5’6” height. As Cliff gave him a firm, tender beat hug as tight as a vice, Garrett swore he could feel his lungs compressing from the immense pressure. It wasn’t like he knew what to say anyway. He had never seen this man before and now he was talking to him so intimately. It was so weird. When Cliff released him and gave him a tender pat on the back, he was nothing short of disoriented.

Garrett was gasping for breath. Before he could voice his confusion, the mountainous man stood straight up again and clapped his dumbbell-sized hands together with a smile. “I am quite glad to see you both, but I must say both of your outfits are quite unbecoming. The guests should be showing within a half hour. Maybe even earlier.” He turned to Devon. “I’m sure you are new here so all is forgiven, but this is a high-class banquet hall and we take attire very seriously here. Not to worry though, we have some proper clothes for you! Do you know where the dressing rooms are?”

“No sir,” Devon replied. Garrett peered over and locked eyes with a very sour-faced Devon, whose eyes were still boggling wide with disbelief.

Cliff smiled. “Not a problem, I’m happy to show you.” He turned to Garrett. “Garrett can go with you too. We must get you out of those dreadful street clothes. It’s your very special day after all.”

Garrett’s throat was dry from how shocked he was, but Cliff had already started leading the way before he could ask him a question - and he certainly had many options! Like “why the hell did you say you’re proud of me?” Or “what do you mean by special day?” But just the thought of questioning this hulking beast of man seemed way too daunting, no matter how tame he seemed.

Cliff turned and led the two boys into the banquet hall, which was far more capacious than Garrett had expected. The place must’ve been at least three-thousand square feet, with every inch of it decorated with Italian Renaissance artwork similar to what was in the lobby. Intricate geometric patterns lined the walls and surrounded the various paintings around the hall, which were also complemented by beige accents around the perimeters. There also had to be around fifty or so round tables all spread out in the open area. Some of the chairs were so close together that Cliff had to walk sideways just to get his broad figure past.

“So how the hell does a guy like you know a guy like that?” Devon whispered as the two traveled through the array of round tables, his voice rife with envy.

“I have no clue,” Garrett replied - the exact same question was on his mind.

“Whatever,” Devon snarled, his tone rich with vicious envy. “I’m a better fit for the job than you anyway. You don’t even know how to talk to girls.”

Garrett coiled his fists. He wanted to retaliate, but he knew that wouldn’t end well. Imagining the five other football players targeting him would be a living hell. He decided to voice a general comment anyway. “Well Devon, it appears that we may have both gotten the job. I mean he never said otherwise.”

“Bullshit, sir,” Devon hissed before his eyes widened with confusion after a few moments. “Wait, why did I just call you, sir? I-”

Before Garrett could respond, Cliff’s roaring bass silenced the boys’ tiff. “Downstairs is the staff apparel room,” he boomed as they reached a locked door on the opposite end of the hall and twisted a key in the lock. “Devon, was it? We have freshly laundered uniforms listed by size and you can find what best correlates with your size. We will meet you back here when you are dressed.”

“Okay. Yes sir! Sounds good, sir!” Devon replied, raising his voice to feign confidence. Garrett grunted in frustration. He wanted to wipe that stupid smug grin off that suck-up’s face.

Garrett winced as he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’d best follow him too,” Cliff added. “You know better than to dress like that. I’d expect that out of Devon because he’s just showing up to work, but your apparel is usually not this…pedestrian.”

Garrett’s heart leapt into his throat. Why on earth was this man commenting on his apparel of all things? He just got here! And why was he talking to him like he’d already gotten the job? Yet at the same time, Cliff was talking to him like he’d known him for years. “Oh, I uh…okay,” Garrett meekly apologized, acquiescing to the man’s strange claims. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to ask the man about his inappropriate hug earlier. “Say, when you said you were proud of me earlier, what did you-”

A marimba ringtone suddenly blared from Cliff’s pocket. He held up his index finger and produced an iPhone from his pocket although his meaty hands made it look like a toy.

“Sorry Garrett, it’s the caterers,” Cliff barked. “I’ll meetcha back here in 15, alright?”

“Oh um..I just-”

Cliff had already answered the phone and started walking away, revealing another glimpse at his broad backside. Garrett readjusted his big glasses and sulked. As he watched the burly stranger depart, he couldn’t help but feel some kind of attachment to him: a benevolence of sorts. It was almost eerie how overly-nice he was being, but it seemed earnest. Perhaps he could tell that Garrett was internally sweating bullets just to be here and was being accommodating. At least it appeared that he’d gotten the job without question? Both he and Devon. God, he didn’t wanna work with that doofus, but it appeared he had no choice. He also didn’t want to let Cliff down after all. The man had been generous enough to hire him on the spot.

Descending down the old, stone staircase, Garrett entered a far less decorated area of the banquet hall. It smelled ancient down here. The air had a decadent, musty odor of men’s colognes mixed with a faint hint of mildew. As he rounded the corner, he noticed Devon was already sifting through a cabinet full of what appeared to be black uniforms. This room looked quite old and was rather charmless, save for a few photos of past galas and smiling well-dressed people on the walls. Something about this place was giving Garrett the creeps, but he couldn’t quite place it.

There was something different about Devon too. Even though his back was to Garrett, his entire outfit seemed a lot more…faded somehow? Maybe the light was playing tricks on him because the jock’s light denim jeans looked much silkier…and greyer in this light for some reason. Unfortunately, the poor basement lighting could not explain the shirt collar that had materialized around the jock’s neck.

“How do they not have my size?” Devon griped, his back still to Garrett.

As Garrett walked closer to his acquaintance, a hazy feeling filled his head, as if he’d inhaled way too much of the dust down here. The ground started to feel farther away for some reason. “Wait, why are you shorter…than me?” he asked aloud.

“Shorter?” Devon snorted, now spinning around to face Garrett. “I’m not-”

The two boys stared at each other with unspoken shock as Devon’s tall figure began to squash down. He looked down in horror as the tall, muscular legs he used to score touchdowns were quickly reduced to two chubbier-looking nubs. The dramatic truncation left him at a condensed height of 5’8”, six inches shorter than before. His athletic torso appeared virtually unchanged, but his height - one of his most defining attributes - had been cruelly taken from him in an instant. “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO ME?” Devon roared, his composure gone in a flash.

“I-I-I didn’t do this!” Garrett squeaked. If he wasn’t so terrified from Devon’s uproar, he would’ve giggled at his puny height. The jock’s muscular stature looked a lot cuter with his height condensed down - like he was a junior version of himself. “I…promise I didn’t. I don’t even-WHOA!”

Garrett’s plea was cut short as he promptly shot up like a weed. At one point he’d been eye-level with Devon, but his legs and lower torso just kept stretching taller and taller until stopping at an imposing height. He flailed his arms out for a moment as his new 6’6” body nearly toppled over. It felt like he was walking on stilts! “Whoa! What the heck is happening?” he asked as he placed a hand on his forehead. Glancing upward, the newly-minted lanky sapling of a boy realized he was now only a few inches from touching the low, old ceiling. “No, no, I c-can’t be tall,” he stuttered. From the flabbergasted look on Devon’s face, he could tell he was shocked and quite jealous. Mostly jealous.

Devon craned his neck up at Garrett and scowled with disgust. “This doesn’t even make any-DUDE, your clothes!”

“My clothes?” Garrett asked. He glimpsed down and watched as his clothes suddenly started to cascade down his body. The first thing he saw were his t-shirt sleeves gliding down from his upper arms to his elbows until they stopped at his wrists. A pair of French cuffs formed on the ends of his new flowy sleeves, accompanied by a pair of distinct “POPS!” as two golden cufflinks materialized. They were nothing short of glossy, refracting the shoddy basement lighting beautifully. Simultaneously, Garrett’s cargo shorts started shuddering all on their own. They too began to distend further and further to the floor until they rested just above his sneakers. Darkness intruded upon the brown coloration of his shorts, turning them into a maroon and then a vibrant sable. A silky fabric also enveloped the khaki of the cargo shorts, stealing away their bagginess and eradicating the oversized front pockets.

“What the hell is happening to us?” For once, Devon’s confident voice wavered, giving way to audible apprehension.

“I…I don't KNOW!” Garrett squealed as his new pair of pants was suddenly hoisted up by an invisible force. Or it wasn’t invisible, it appeared to be a pair of brown, leathery suspenders with metal clips that glistened in the light…which had magically materialized over him somehow? They locked in place and pulled Garrett’s pants up around his stomach. The movement scrunched up his t-shirt for a moment before the fabric magically levitated and gingerly tucked itself in, leaving zero wrinkles behind. “Y-you’re s-seeing this too, right?” he stuttered.

“Of course I fucking am!” Devon snarled, his face red with anger and embarrassment. Garrett’s eyes goggled incredulously as Devon’s new outfit looked even more elaborate than his. Gone forever was his grey t-shirt and blue jeans and instead he now sported a long-sleeved dress shirt fit with an array of vibrant mother-of-pearl buttons complemented by a pair of black suit pants. Devon’s new dapper attire accentuated every ripple of his body from his larger-than-average arms and legs. Most interestingly, his belly had a faint bump to it now, like he was bloated or something.

Garrett was mesmerized as he watched the jock struggle in his new, expertly-tailored clothes. Simultaneously, he couldn’t resist the urge to steal glances at himself and watch as his shirt dyed itself blue and his new dress pants dyed themselves a relaxing shade of light grey. In unison, both of their respective waterfalls of new clothing entered their final cascade. To mark its near terminus, a brand new pair of black suspenders sprung up from Devon’s dress pants. They yanked his pants up high up past his belly button. “GUH!” Devon cried in anguish as the suspenders attached around his shoulders and locked his pants in a painful-looking position. Garrett didn’t dare look for long, but he noticed that the jock’s genitals were bulged up in the pants’ fly as a result.

“This fucking hurts!” Devon cried, unable to hold in his rage “I can’t even feel my co-o--ock!”

Unlike Garrett, Devon’s clothes had a few more tricks up their sleeves. Firstly, an ocean of black stitching materialized over his pristine white dress shirt. It started at his shirt collar and promptly swallowed up his back and his pecs, until finally stopping just above his waist. Devon’s attempts to undo his tight suspenders were cruelly cut short as a brand new black suit jacket concealed his entire torso. Garrett gawked in disbelief, no longer concealing his curious glances. Devon pulled and picked at his new blazer with much ire. Three buttons appeared in the center of the boxy item of clothing and promptly fastened themselves. Devon’s abdomen and self-proclaimed “rock-hard abs” were concealed by the jacket while the top half of the blazer allowed for a triangle of view of his dress shirt. To complete his new expensive outfit, two black ribbons appeared on either side of his neck. Gracefully, they pirouetted around each other and promptly fastened a tight knot, leaving a spiffy black bowtie just under Devon’s Adam’s Apple. As a final touch, a purple strand of satin formed around the young man’s waist of all things. It wrapped around his obliques and banded over his lower back, creating a brand new indigo cumberbund and finalizing Devon’s extravagant uniform.

To finalize Garrett’s much less-invasive changes, a suit jacket of his own materialized and gently wrapped itself around his upper body. A checkerboard of green and white squares covered the illustrious, new fabric. He moved his arms around in it and was surprised to find that it felt light and breathable. Garrett’s eyes fell back onto Devon, who looked like a deer in headlights. Neither knew what to say. The strangest part was the fact that Devon’s pants were so tight - tight enough that Garrett could even see his balls all bunched up in the front. What was that called again? A camel toe? A moose-knuckle? Devon Kearney, one of the douchiest jocks in school, had an actual moose-knuckle. Before Garrett could stop himself, a small chuckle escaped his lips.

“You think this is fucking funny?” Devon snarled before immediately placing a hand on Garrett’s chest and forcefully shoving him into the wall. For a body three-quarters as tall as it once was, he still retained quite a lot of strength.

Garrett was petrified. “No, no, Devon, I-”

“This is all your fault somehow!” Devon roared, now inches from Garrett’s face. “Of course, being paired with Garrett Carmicheal of all people would result in some fucking weird nerdy black magic shit!” He tugged at his dapper uniform in disgust. The only remnant of his street clothes was the baseball cap still on his head. “I look like such a fucking dork!”

Devon was speechless. It was disturbing to see the jock’s unflappable, cocky exterior completely shattered, replaced by flagrant rage. “Devon, I-”

“Give me one reason why I shouldn't pound the shit out of you!”

“Devon, no…stop!” Garrett stuttered, overcome with fear.

Then, the strangest thing happened. Instantly, Devon obeyed the command. He released his tight grip on Garrett’s sternum and stepped back in an almost robotic fashion. “Huh?”

“My sincerest apologies, sir,” Devon replied, placing his muscular arms to his side and standing up as straight as possible. He shook his head. “Wuh, why did I…do that?”

Garrett wasn’t sure how to react. Instead, he just focused on catching his breath and peering down at his disoriented comrade. It was wild to think that Devon, the 6’4” tall linebacker who towered over Garrett in history class, had been reduced to a meager 5’8” height. Even crazier was the fact that he actually obeyed a command.

POP! POP!

It took a moment for Garrett to realize that the two sharp pings had actually been his top two shirt buttons flying loose. “My shirt…” was all he could say as he wordlessly glanced down at his now, partially-exposed chest. Instead of seeing a flat chest and distinct collar bone, he was surprised to see that his pecs were actually protruding out? And they were still inflating!

“Goodness gracious!” Devon exclaimed before putting a hand over his mouth.

The two boys could only watch helplessly while Garrett’s chest continued inflating. His pecs were a statement now - two growing muscular slabs, as sturdy as bricks, that tempted with their masculinity. Short, spindly dark chest hairs sprouted up in the center, which had now formed a small chasm. Although Garrett was enticed, he was unbelievably confused. A scrawny geek like him wasn’t supposed to have tits like this! He’d never even set foot in a gym. Or maybe he had? After all, it must’ve taken a decade’s worth of vigorous exercise to get pecs this round and supple. They were so huge that even his nipples had been pushed to the side and had puffed out, now each closely resembling the tip of a baby’s bottle. They were so sensitive too. He could imagine them tensing up every time his French cuffs grazed them or whenever he would give them loving squeezes in private. In fact, he could recall they gave him some kind of unorthodox pride - seeing them perked up in every formal picture he’d ever taken. His bros would even joke and call him Kate Upton because of it.

Garrett’s cock ascended, and noticeably tented his wool dress pants. Absent-mindedly, he ran a hand through his thick, long hair and parted it to one side - something he’d never done before. Of course, the hair didn’t stick due to the lack of product and instead, it just hung there as a gnarled mess with most of it flattened down and the other half sticking straight up like a porcupine’s quills. “God, what is happening to me,” Garrett huffed as he impulsively grabbed at his bulge.

“It appears you’re changing, sir,” Devon aptly replied, his voice sounding a lot more monotone.

“I…I really am,” Garrett replied, his voice nearly crescendoing into a moan as he gave his bulge a shake. “I look different, don’t I? More cleaned up, eh? More prim and proper. More mature, even.”

“T-that you do,” Devon confirmed, stuttering his words as he was forced to swallow a snarky rebuttal. He was losing his will to be a contrarian. Instead, his disposition was becoming far more accommodating and congenial, accompanied by an enhancing vocabulary. “Me too!” he pouted, his monotone voice once again possessing his familiar churlishness. “I hate this tux thing I’m dressed in. I don’t want to look mature! Although spectacular, my regalia is quite oleaginous, isn’t it? GAHH! What am I saying?!”

Garrett gazed back up at Devon, or rather peered down at him - the fear and frustration was evident on the other teen’s distraught face. He also appeared to have put on a few more pounds somehow. His growing arms and pec muscles took on a far more squishy shape and his tight stomach crafted by years of high school football had a much pudgier contour to it.

“GUHH!” Garrett roared, at a low register, similar to Devon’s voice, realizing the changes were far from over. Two shockwaves of blood surged through his arms, immediately filling them with volatility. A pair of massive, bodybuilder-sized biceps gradually inflated within the confines of the bespoke twill shirt. Garrett could only watch transfixed as his skinny, noodle arms - the things he’d hated the most about himself - became nothing of the sort. The muscles in his forearms followed suit as they pulled apart and tightened up with protein-laden muscle, becoming permanent, cylindrical-shaped obtrusions in every shirt he would ever wear. Around fifteen seconds later, Garrett’s barrel-sized arms were now tastefully concealed beneath the tight, stretchy fabric of his dress shirt. Mercifully, his golden cufflinks remained intact and undisturbed, their dazzling opulence a necessary accentuation of his rigid wrists. Garrett was in awe. Even his hands looked manlier - they looked more plump and more formidable somehow. His nails were perfectly manicured and his digits must’ve doubled in size, dropping their nimble slimness in favor of a more boxing glove-like shape.

A wave of growth undulated through his abdomen as it began to slowly extend forward to a similar breadth of his mighty pecs. With it came two distinct pops, but this time it came from deep within his abs. It felt like he was flexing abdominal muscles that had never made themselves known before. To confirm his suspicion, the two pops multiplied into four and then six until concluding on eight square-shaped indentations etched into his abdomen. Bespoke twill felt incredible against his brand new eight-pack. “God, I’m really filling out, huh?” Garrett smirked as an impulsive affirmation to himself.

“Yes, I am too,” Devon answered nervously.

Garrett glanced down and the first thing he noticed about Devon was the bulbous sphere that his belly had become. It wasn’t like he was obese or anything, but to call Devon a jock would be laughably inaccurate. This stomach of his had to be at least fifty pounds and it jutted straight out like a boulder. It didn’t sag low like a belly normally would, it hung high and tall, suspended by hidden, rigid muscle. Something told Garrett it would only get bigger.

“AGH!” Garrett yelped as he felt two muscles viciously tingle each of his shoulders before they began to stretch upward. A pair of glorious trapezius muscles flared out, giving him a menacing hood of muscle around his neck similar to a king cobra. Quickly, their immensity made his small, boyish head and mop of brown, unkempt bowl cut look extremely out of place. As Garrett’s trap muscles finished their transition into ones that a bodybuilder would envy, he attempted to turn his head 90 degrees, but found that to be quite a challenge. His neck too had also stretched wider to compete with the overgrown atoll of his trap muscles. Eliminating the soreness in his new muscular neck, Garrett rocked it back and forth and felt his bones and veins snap into place. The process sent a giant tear through the back of his Star Wars tie, whose lopsided Windsor knot had also fared no match for Garrett’s expanding, meaty neck and shoulder. It now hung loosely, dangling precariously over his massive tits about to plop to the ground.

“Pardon me sir, your tie is askew,” Devon piped up.

Before Garrett could react, his portly acquaintance gingerly removed the tie from his figure and was running it through his hands. He blinked and all of a sudden, Devon’s hands were concealed beneath a pair of satin white gloves. Paired with that, his hands looked larger too - like two baseball mitts.

“What is with this tie?” Devon added, staring at the Star Wars Mandalorian emblems on the tie. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Yeah, it’s my good luck tie,” Garrett replied. “I wore it for…the interview…” He trailed off for a moment as his memories of an interview grew a little hazier. They were both here for some reason, but this seemed like a strange situation for an interview. “Have you always been wearing gloves?” It was a straightforward thing for him to ask, but he genuinely was curious.

“Yeah, it’s a part of the uniform,” Devon nodded although his brow furrowed with confusion over his own comment. It was as if he didn’t know what he was going to say next.

“Okay,” Garrett replied intently, giving Devon a snide smirk. His cock bobbed in his trousers as he thought of the idea of a football player bending to his whim and being involuntarily supportive.

Devon’s face didn’t show much more emotion. Instead, he was putting his new man-hands to work some magic on the tattered tie. As he rolled up the tie, the array of Mandalorian emblems began to fade. First, the helmet’s outline faded before diffusing in all directions and melting into the navy blue coloration of the tie. In some miraculous animation, Garrett watched as the colors danced into each other before brightening until they reached a divine, subdued seafoam green. With a firm shake from Devon’s hands, the tie fattened up and lost any trace of its former self.

“What did you do?” Garrett asked, his heart sunk as his favorite tie from one of his favorite movies was gone forever.

“Hermés,” Devon said, answering a question never asked. “Mint is quite the nice touch for the outfit too.” He handed it to Garrett who just looked at it dumbly. “You know how to tie a tie don’t you?” Devon asked smugly, his voice sounding much more…posh and preppy. “We don’t want that Cliff fellow to be mad.”

“Yeah for sure,” Garrett replied as he unconsciously wrapped the tie around his collar. In only a few seconds and a few deft maneuvers, his hands nimbly created a Windsor knot.

“I taught you well,” Devon applauded, his eyebrow crooked as he dissected his statement. Still, his mouth continued its whimsical dialogue. “You can tie a tie as fast as I can tie my shoes. Or at least as fast as I used to be able to tie them.” He gestured at his bass drum of a belly and chuckled at himself.

Garrett couldn’t help but snicker too. Devon’s bubbly nature was somewhat infectious. It was kind of hot - imagining the portly ex-jock catering to his needs, but also being a genuinely nice person. That would be a nice change.

“Isn’t that better?” Devon asked. A faint panic still permeated his eyes, as if he wasn’t sure why he was asking these questions and indulging Garrett like this.

“Yeah,” Garrett smiled with a conceited grin as he ran a hand through his floppy, greasy mop of crumpled hair. The movement caused more strands to flop down successfully, causing them to be quaffed straight back as if they were drenched in gel. Garrett didn’t pay it any mind. He just enjoyed how perfectly his mint tie complemented the checkered pattern of his blazer. This nearly-gaudy attire - he wanted to hate it - but he couldn’t. It accentuated his muscles perfectly! Oh yeah. His muscles. “I feel like a million bucks!” Garrett said with an honorary flex.

“Good, good,” Devon jovially replied. In accordance with his jolliness, a new layer of fat formed around his stomach and stretched out his resplendent tuxedo even further. A wave of compassion and maturity overcame him, replacing his adolescent panic. Looking at a burgeoning young stud like Garrett made him feel…proud in a way? It made him feel oddly paternal, as if their ages were different or something? “You have to look your best for your special day,” Devon added, before grimacing at how cringe he sounded. Still, it felt eerily correct to assist Garrett with his newfound sartorial knowledge.

“My special day?” Garrett asked before smirking once more. “That’s right. It…is my special day. I just can’t remember why.”

“Me neither,” Devon admitted. His adolescent rage towards Garrett had faded completely. It was impossible to get mad a young, promising stud like him. Instead, he glared down at his new rotund body ruefully. “I look like a fucking gumdrop,” he pouted as he poked and prodded at his round belly and pecs. He craned his stubby neck to see that even his broad, hulking thighs made his dress pants look vacuum-sealed. It reminded him of wearing padded football pants. His chest was ridiculously huge too - his pecs were like two airbags resting atop a giant, protrusive boulder. Thankfully, his pecs didn’t sag like other older men’s man-boobs often did. They just hung there, taunting Devon with their undeniable stoutness. It was enthralling in a way - the idea of his cannonball-shaped stomach on display in every shirt he ever wore. That made him feel so…mature, like a father figure of sorts. His corpulence, unapologetically masculine, equally disgusted and excited him. At least his plump body looked well-dressed and concealed perfectly by this uniform. Devon could picture so many men his age, or…his father’s age, who didn’t know how to dress themselves - the type to have the undersides of their bellies exposed in public and who wore thin, ill-fitting t-shirts with visible, nasty sweat stains. Devon felt some strange pleasure in the fact that his clothes were tailored just for him. It made him feel much more…powerful that way. This well-dressed, paunchy body of his was an extension of his own masculinity.

Garrett was lost in his own self-indulgent thoughts as he inspected his own chest. He gave his nipples a tweak and winced at how sensitive they were. Rubbing the back of his meaty hand against the expensive fabric, he could feel a God, he loved being a man. A huge, hunky, muscular, young, confident man. One whose body jutted out in every direction in his formal clothes - kinda like Devon’s did, only Garrett’s were far more perky and traditionally attractive. He’d never clamored over his body like that before. It was quite the rush - a premonition of his constantly evolving virility and an extension of his own masculinity.

“Wait, do you hear that?” Garrett asked abruptly, causing Devon to return back to reality. The two of them froze and sure enough, they realized that there was now an abundance of noise emanating above them. A faint bassline and drums could be heard accompanied by a moderately-loud chatter of people conversing. “There’s people upstairs.”

Devon turned white as a ghost. “Oh no, oh shit dude, people can’t see me like…like this!” he cried, holding up his pudgy, balloon-shaped belly in rife disgust.

“Yeah, you look like a blimp,” Garrett chuckled. For a moment, he almost regretted saying it, but his fear of Devon was dissipating. They were equals now - no longer bound by archaic notions of a teenage hierarchy.

“Manners please,” Devon retorted, primping his suit. He didn’t appear to be that offended by the comment though, considering he didn't give Garrett any vicious retaliation. In fact, he seemed to be captivated by his tuxedo jacket. “My coattails. They nearly stretch to the floor!” he said with dopey astonishment, stretching his neck to inspect the way the coat draped over his pot-bellied frame. “They kinda look like a superhero’s cape. It’s quite…marvelous, isn’t it?”

“Whoa, your voice! It sounds British!” Garrett laughed. “Would you like some tea and crumpets, governor?”

Devon was not amused. “Sir, please,” he huffed, far more displeased than angry. “I don’t think it’s quite appropriate to make fun of my accent. I surely don't mock you for your deep voice.”

A twinge of guilt pulsed through Garrett. If a jerk like Devon could learn politeness, surely he could too. “Right, right, I’m sorry,” he said, completely oblivious while his voice lost its teenage squeak in favor of a commanding, baritone register. “I guess I never expected a football player to act so formal.” The voice that Garrett now had sounded like it belonged to a male country singer rather than a raspy 18 year old.

“Football?” Devon gasped. He could recall playing it for a brief moment, but the memories of it all came crashing down instantly. Like a piece of paper being incinerated to ash. A man of his rotund stature certainly wouldn’t be the greatest at the sport unless he was an offensive lineman. “I have…never played football before,” Devon said, almost in a state of shock as the words left his lips. “I wouldn’t be too fast on the field. Not with a belly like…OOOFF…like this.” Without warning, fifty more pounds were piled onto Devon’s stomach, causing him to look like even more of a portly freak. This monster gut looked ready to rip free from his uniform at any moment, but thankfully it had swiftly stretched with his beastly proportions to prevent that.

“Oh yeah, that’s right, it’s not called soccer where you’re from.”

“Huh? I…oh yes, that’s quite correct.” Devon’s head was spinning. His definition of the sport was changing. Football was nothing like it was here in the States. It was a far less violent and barbaric sport in the U.K. but most importantly, it was an excuse to get a pint with the lads and watch his favorite team whenever he went back home. Or wait, wasn’t this home? Everything was getting fuzzy.

Garrett was feeling the same way as he zoned out for a moment, gazing down at his sophisticated clothes. Or rather hunky, sophisticated body - the clothes were just an extension of himself. “Well, I think we should head upstairs and talk to that Cliff guy and maybe he can help us.”

“Ah Cliff, what a fine gentleman!” Devon perked up, like a robot coming to life. His deep, Welsh accent teeming with merriment. “Yes, let’s!”

Garrett tried his hardest not to snicker as Devon led the way. His bouncy, blubbery figure certainly didn’t move the way it once did. At first, he clearly was trying to move at the speed of a highschool quarterback, but his gait was reduced to a sluggish waddle. Something else had also changed about Devon. It was his back - which looked quite broader for some reason. Paired with his angular shoulders, his upper body was turning into quite an imposing-shaped rectangle. For a man of smaller stature, his figure was still quite imposing.

“I’m sure everyone is waiting to see you.” Devon said merrily as he reached the wooden stairs.

“Ah that’s right,” Garrett replied and a burst of dopamine suddenly hit his brain, promptly inhibiting any more questioning of their predicament. It was his special day. Being the center of attention was something he craved - people all gathered around him, listening to him talk in length - it was like adrenaline to him : a formative adrenaline. He cherished all the accolades his hulking muscles would receive. From friends, from family members, from romantic partners. After all, he’d put in years of hard work!

Garrett was aghast as he walked up the steps behind his paunchy companion. Devon already had the tight, muscle butt of a high school quarterback, but the ascent up the staircase immediately began shaping it into an enormous cushion that was impossible to ignore. With each step upward, his glutes flared outward in all directions, stretching his wool dress pants like lycra. Inflating like balloons, Devon’s mountainous asscheeks lost some of their muscled firmness. They rhymically bobbed up and down over and over, indicative of their increased fat concentration. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, two mounds the size of basketballs and as wide as pillows had replaced Devon’s former ass. He appeared to be none the wiser as he turned sideways for a moment and readjusted his cummerbund.

Garrett froze. His cock had risen to full mast and he hated it. Illuminated by a single overhead light, Devon’s mammoth figure cast a marvelous silhouette. The equal breadth of his glorious, distended stomach and protruding suited buttocks were so oddly compelling. And stupidly erotic. Then again, Garrett had been hard since the changes started…or for the past hour while he’d been getting ready. Yeah. That was right. Dressing up always got his hormones firing.

“It seems like only yesterday you had gotten into college,” Devon reminisced as he turned his stubby neck up to Garrett who climbed to the top step.

“College?” Garrett asked. He hadn’t even graduated high school. “I don’t think-”

“Look at yourself, Garrett, ” Devon boomed. The newfound sagacity in his voice sent a shiver up Garrett’s spine. “You’ve really changed from the small, precocious lad you once were. You heed advice and apply it into your own life. In university and in bodybuilding. Why, I remember when I used to be larger than you. Hah hah hah! That’s not quite the case anymore, is it?”

“Bodybuilding? College?” Garrett was dumbfounded. Two retrospections ran parallel in his brain. In one, he was a teenage misanthrope who would much rather keep to himself and his hobbies while another, more forceful side of him savored the attention of being a heartthrob, junior bodybuilder. He craved it, actually. He wanted to loathe the feeling, but he couldn’t. Everything around him was spinning out of control so beautifully, but something told him that this was a very good thing.

“Why yes,” Devon replied, “We’re all so proud of you. You have that ambition that’s going to get you very far in life.” His voice cracked a bit. “I wish I had more of that when I was a lad.”

Before Garrett could stop himself, he’d already wrapped his arms around the portly man. Given their height difference, he’d had to lean down slightly, but he didn’t even realize he’d done that. Devon quickly reciprocated and a mutual wave of growth radiated through the two of them. It was a weird burst of unbridled sympathy the two had never felt for each other once. But it was real.

Firstly, Devon’s belly gained a final thirty more pounds, swelling larger than a yoga ball and tight as a bass drum. At one point, he’d competed in bodybuilding competitions just like Garrett was…or was going to. But now, a stout aging man like Devon much preferred to possess a distended, glorious muscle gut formed from decades of hard work and newfound relaxation. His body type was truly one of a kind - he had to make his own custom clothes for it too - and nothing made him more enthusiastic that Garrett appeared to be following the same fate of growing gigantic. Finishing its inflation, Devon’s belly pressed tightly against Garrett’s abdomen, which was starting to shrink in exchange. Any remaining pudge Garrett had was trimmed away and repurposed into a lean, X-shaped of a competition-ready bodybuilder. His nonexistent butt also began to change, promptly losing its shapelessness as it inflated into two boulders. His rear was only around three-quarters the size of Devon’s, but it had equal strength. Garrett had an enormous, perky muscle butt formed by nearly a decade of strenuous squatting and consistent training. In tandem, Garrett’s slender thighs beefed up, becoming a set of poles that could effortlessly support his hulking frame. Subconsciously, he rocked back and forth on them and the new muscles tightened into pillars as thick as stone.

“Thank you,” Devon replied as the two pulled apart. His eyes were glassy and his face had a myriad of more pronounced lines on it now. He was so happy now, happier than he had ever been from his life as a football player. Being a British butler, a man of superlative etiquette, and passing eclectic style and machismo onto a man like Garrett - that was his new purpose. “You’ve become the man deep down that I knew you always could be.”

“Of course,” Garrett smiled. He felt like his heart was going to explode. While studying Devon’s new venerable face and more mature sunken eyes, he blinked and all of a sudden, his baseball cap disappeared! Not only that, Devon’s head of vibrant blonde hair had vanished too, leaving behind a faint horseshoe of hair. He pictured Devon as having a younger, boyish face in his head, but those memories were crinkling away as he looked into this new, mature man.“Your…your hat,” was all Garrett could say.

Faint wrinkles texturized themselves around Devon’s face as he smiled. “Yes, the bowler hat felt a little unfitting on a very formal occasion like this.”

“No, you were wearing a…” Garrett trailed off, immediately forgetting that a bald, astute gentleman like Devon would ever wear a baseball cap. That seemed too…juvenile for him. Whenever he did wear a hat, it was usually a top hat or something. Even more paralyzing to Garrett was the fact that this man in front of him didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. He felt like a family member. Like a mentor of sorts. It made sense. After all, he’d known Devon his entire life. A hazy memory traveled through Garrett’s brain. He could remember being young, back when Devon had a full head of hair and he’d wanted so badly to impress him. Now he had and the family butler couldn’t be more proud. Wait, family butler? That seemed correct for some reason, but it make any-

“Have a fun night, kid,” Devon smiled, uniquely giving the words a staccato affectation with his charming British accent, as he opened up the wooden door to the banquet hall.

Bright lights inundated Garrett’s corneas, like he’d stepped into heaven. When his eyes adjusted, he could make out around what appeared to be one hundred or so people occupying the previously vacant hall. Their attire was ritzy - like nothing Garrett had ever seen. Women adorned with beautiful, stylish dresses paired next to men dressed up in bespoke three-piece suits of various colors. A multitude of tuxedoed waitstaff were maneuvering in between the crowd of affluent guests. All parties involved seemed to be engrossed in pleasant, light-hearted conversation.

Seeing them all sent a tidal wave of fear through Garrett and the same teenage nerves he thought he’d banished inundated his brain. “Devon, there are so many-”

He turned, but Devon had already begun conversing with a crowd of five male waiters nearby who were dressed in identical tuxedos. He wanted to chuckle at how Devon’s cartoonishly massive butt eclipsed his view of the men he was talking to, but he couldn’t. In his peripheral vision, he could see people start noticing him. All the confidence he’d once had vanished instantly replaced by his familiar teenage nerves. He hated crowds - hated them so much. And now here he was trapped in the middle of one of the largest ones he’d ever seen.

Just as Garrett took his first step forward to try and slink towards the wall, he nearly collided with the silhouette of a huge, imposing man who nearly knocked him to his feet. Luckily, his reflexes were quick and he jumped back on his heels.

“Vince, there you are!” thundered the familiar, lofty stranger. It was Cliff - his interviewer of all people? He also looked more put together than before. His massive pecs were thinly concealed by a tight dress shirt preventing any chest hair from peeking through. At his side was a breathtaking entourage of beautiful guests, a group of men wearing flashy, velvety suits and a group of women wearing extravagant, ruched dresses. “We were wondering what was taking you so long!”

“Huh? My name’s not-” Garrett stopped. His deep voice, almost as low as Cliff’s, startled him and reminded him how manly he sounded. Before he could analyze it, two new heels abruptly shot out of Garrett’s sneakers, launching him a half-inch higher into the air - allowing him to become eye level with Cliff - the man who’d previously towered over him. He wanted to tremble, but there was something so comforting about the older man’s face. It made him feel seen. There was a broad, beaming smile on Cliff’s brick-shaped jaw, emanating the same sage-like reverence as Devon had.

“There’s the man of the hour!” another well-dressed man around three-quarters the size of Garrett exclaimed. By this point, the group of guests had swarmed all around him, rendering any chance of escape impossible. His heart felt like it was going to explode out of chest, from stress and a weird, weird sense of familiarity with these people, especially one of the men in front of him. His face was devoid of wrinkles and his forehead devoid of furrows. Must’ve been a lot of Botox. Even his hairline mirrored Garrett’s, which was impressive given he looked to be in his sixties or so. “Put ‘err there, Vince!” the dapper stranger exclaimed, extending out his hand.

Garrett acquiesced, not wanting to be rude. He didn’t realize how clammy his hands were until they were against this man’s dry ones. “Thanks, Uncle James. It’s so good to see you,” he replied before flinching at his weird, automatic response.

The man didn’t seem to care about being Garrett’s uncle. It did seem to make sense though. He looked like Cliff, only a few years older. “Look at that! He already got himself a Rolex! Lookin’ sharp, son!”

“A…what?” Garrett looked down at his right wrist and sure enough, there was a watch with a rich, emerald hue that looked nothing short of expensive. Upon further inspection, he realized it was the same green shade as his preppy checkered blazer and it had the same eye-catching shimmer of his cufflinks. Fuck. That turned him on for some reason. Luxury. Power. Being all dressed up. “Yeah, doesn’t it have a marvelous sparkle to it?” Garrett added, unable to contain his excitement. His voice sounded different now - a little more pompous. He was really holding the vowels of words in his mouth for longer now. It reminded him of the rich kids from his high school. Wait, where did he go to school again?

A lady in a lavender velvet dress holding a bubbling glass of champagne spoke next. She used big gestures to the group, as if she was showing Garrett off like a trophy. “Our son - the Yale graduate,” she declared, her voice sounding as proud as Cliff’s and as proud as Devon’s. “I can’t believe he finally did it.”

“Top of his class too!” Cliff added, sipping on a glass of scotch. “Don’t forget about that, Pauline.”

“Of course,” the woman smiled. “We never doubted our son for a second.”

“Graduated? From Yale? No, I’m…” Garrett sputtered as the final realization hit him. This was a party. All for him. And Cliff and Pauline. They were…his parents? That didn’t seem right, but Garrett had trouble recalling any other alternative. He could recall glimpses of his upbringing in opulent rooms, going to high-class events and developing a sartorial affinity. He now truly felt like an adult just like them. His parents’ positive words echoed in his head, filling him up with joy. For the first time in a long time, Garrett felt proud of himself. His memories of a recluse were fading while recollections of being a valedictorian and relaxed, sociable young athlete took their place.

“Looks like he’s been hitting the gym at the same time!” Uncle James piped in. “What’s your current weight?”

“280,” Garrett replied and instinctively performed a front lat spread to the group who all laughed pompously.

“Don’t get him started,” Pauline replied with a playful tap on Garrett’s shoulder.

Another man spoke up who looked muscular too, although not as muscular as Garrett. “Even during football, you were never half this size. You really took to bodybuilding during college! I can’t believe I’m looking at the same kid!”

Garrett beamed with pride and his posh accent swallowed up his old one completely. “Once I knew football wasn’t in the cards for me, I decided to take weightlifting more seriously and it really helped me.”

“Isn’t that great,” one of the ladies in the crowd smiled.

“He sure takes after his old man!” Cliff smiled, wrapping his arm around his equally-strapping son.

Garrett froze as he fully took in the breadth of his alleged father. For lack of a better word, he was just so manly. Even being a man in his fifties, he still had some incredible size to him. He must’ve been sixty pounds heavier than Garrett, which was nothing short of impressive. Cliff’s cerulean three-piece suit looked ready to rip off. Garrett could recall some strong feelings about that: the idea of getting to a massive size where all of his suits had to be custom-made to contain his sheer width. He could faintly recall a short, plump man measuring him with yellow tape as he crafted measurements for him.

Holy shit. That man was his family butler. The one he’d just seen earlier. What was his name again? Acrid guilt pulsed through Garrett’s head. This butler had been with his family his entire life and he couldn’t even remember his name. Even Garrett’s own name was growing harder to remember, but he knew one thing for sure. His name certainly wasn’t Vincent.

“Any refills on champagne?” chirped a familiar ebullient voice.

“Yes please, thank you Reginald,” one of the ladies chirped back as the butler filled up her tall glass.

Garrett turned and sure enough, his family butler was right there: Reginald Chapman - a 400 pound intimidating colossus who was actually a kind-hearted giant.

Garrett tried not to laugh. This whole situation was so far-fetched. It reminded him of that one Rick & Morty episode where the family in the show had gained memories of a butler who they thought had always been part of their family. But this situation was different from a silly cartoon like that. It wasn’t like Reginald lived with them although he was over at the house working full-time. Hell, he’d even gone on family vacations with the Atkinsons. He’d even brought his husband along. It had been a strange sight - seeing the family butler and his equally-large middle-aged husband on the beach, but it had been illuminating. But still, Reginald had his own life. He was simply the Atkinsons’ staff member. A lifelong, steadfast one at that. Happy to cater to Garrett’s needs whenever necessary and give him advice on life and bodybuilding. It seemed weird to have a private butler, but not for a family like the Atkinsons who were filthy rich.

For a moment, Garrett found that somewhat exciting - the idea of a massive man catering to his needs, but it wasn’t weird like that. Even with his portly figure, Reginald had been quite an inspiration for Garrett to take bodybuilding seriously. He’d wanted to grow - to get as big as one of his idols - a kind-hearted Englishman who was like his second father. In fact, it had been a conversation on a Bahamian beach with Reginald and his burly partner Oliver that had made Garrett realize he was bisexual - a whole separate epiphany.

“I assume the college grad over here needs a fresh glass too!” Reginald piped up, producing a clean wine glass for Garrett. He poured the perfect amount of the liquid into it and smiled. “He’s truly one of a kind isn’t he?”

The group smiled and laughed in agreement. Garrett took notice of the other patrons in the background who were also turning his way. Reginald had the volume of a foghorn after all. In the crowd, Garrett could make out a few guys and girls his age - some of the friends from college. Some of them were really attractive. This really was quite the celebration. And it was all for him.

“Dom perignon, sir,” Reginald smiled, handing Garrett the glass, his fifty-six year old face glowing with adulation.

Garrett took a sip and smiled - the expensive liquor tasted incredible. He swore he could feel the bubbles fizzing in his mouth after he swallowed.

“Raise your glasses, please!” Reginald boomed. The guests immediately obeyed, all with smiles on their faces as they stared warmly at Garrett. “To Vincent Atkinson!” Reginald thundered as the background chatter quieted down. “A young man who has changed my life as much as I hope I’ve changed his!”

There was that name again. Garrett wanted to reply, but instead a warm, compassionate feeling overcame him. He was touched by the sweetness of the family butler - a man who inspired him every day.

A cheer from all of the guests echoed through the banquet hall. They all took a sip except for Reginald who just warmly smiled. “Have a glorious night you all,” he said with a bow of his head before swiftly walking away to tend to other patrons. That’s right. Reginald was on the clock. That enthusiastic, diligent butler. Garrett watched as his plump body bounced within the confines of his long, dangling coattails as as he sidled over to another crowd.

“Vince has grown up so fast!” chimed in a male patron as the chatter started back up. “He’s sure got that Atkinson family chin!”

“Wait until he gets those Atkinson family veneers!” chimed in another who received a chastising shove from his wife.

“Family…chin?” Garrett mumbled as he felt a bubbling sensation emanating from the bottom of his face. It was the weirdest feeling, like someone was popping bubble wrap under his chin. The final piece of him was changing - his face. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to see it happen in real time. He just had to. “Excuse me, please,” Garrett said before promptly darting away before any patron could stop him. With each distinct footstep, his dress shoes grew more and more glossy, echoing throughout the opulent hall. Luckily, he located a bathroom nearby and promptly slunk inside, but not before feeling his broad shoulders scrape against the sides of the old, wooden doorframe. Garrett skulked to the mirror a panicked, breathy mess and promptly froze with disbelief at his strapping reflection.

Everything about him was huge. Unbelievably huge.

He turned to his side and ogled over his humongous chest and back jutting out in either direction. Even his biceps looked prime to rip right out of his checkered suit jacket. Lower on his body, his bulge and tight, muscle ass also jutted out from his midsection, quivering with his movements, both exuding undoubtable manliness. Now in complete privacy, Garrett’s cock rose back up to full mast. His body - it reminded him of Cliff’s - his new father - unyieldingly masculine and provocative. He was burning up under this sexy yet stifling outfit his butler had picked out.

“I’m an Atkninson,” he said to himself, eager to look like just his father - his idol.

With a distinct set of cracks, his stubby chin erupted forward, immediately doubling its width and acquiring a brand new shovel-shape. Any awkward half-grown teenage facial hair vanished with it, endowing Garrett with a clean-shaven, spotless chin accompanied by the subtle aroma of expensive aftershave. Next his lips inflated like two balloons, puffing out to an extremely kissable level. His teeth straightened and became a pure shade of white. Transfixed by his reflection, Garrett watched in wonder as his unsightly pimples and zits were eradicated from his face. In one swift blink, his eyes changed from hazel to a bright blue accompanied by a slightly thicker yet attractive nose. Propelled down by an invisible wave, Garrett’s unkempt bowl cut was finally subdued and all of the long, strands shortened to a preppy, professional length. An expertly-placed layer of gel coated the young man’s greasy brown hair, slicking it back in an instant, taking off a few inches with it.

“Mmm fuck,” Garrett huffed as he swore he felt a gust of air rush over his head. A glorious tidal wave of bright blond hair came next, swallowing up his old bushy brunette forever. He wanted to be mad at how preppy he looked, but it didn’t make sense why. This was how he’d dressed his whole life.

“I’m an Atkinson,” Garrett repeated, hard as a rock while he watched his boyish features mature ever so slightly, eradicating anyone ever mistaking him for a teenager ever again and aging him up in a man in his early 20s. That wasn’t who he was after all. Everyone was here tonight for his college graduation.

Garrett was treated to a final, illustrious animation of his altering face in the mirror as any remaining “Garrett-hood” he had was eliminated. His hairline pulled down slightly making his forehead less prominent, his eyes grew a little closer together, and his ears shrunk ever so slightly. And then as if Garrett had been staring at some magic-eye poster, it all clicked into place. His handsome face looked just like a younger version of his father. “Fuck yeah, I’m…Vincent Atkinson,” he trembled, his voice rife with anticipation.

That utterance - it sent a shockwave through Vincent. In an instant, an invisible sonic boom erupted through the room. It forced down his eyes and locked all of his handsome new attributes in place - never to be taken from him. Simultaneously, his rock-hard cock became flaccid. When Vincent reopened his eyes, he was left staring at his reflection in the mirror and there was a watery sheen over his aquamarine-shaded eyes. He was on the verge of crying for some reason? He blinked a few times and the tears only welled up further in his eyes. The lifetime of Garrett Carmicheal disappeared, replaced by a brand new handsome stud. Forever.

The instant Vincent’s mind transformed, the bathroom door flung open and in stepped a familiar, enormous man.

He flinched. His eyes were still watering. Why wouldn’t they stop? Why did he feel so sentimental all of a sudden?

Vincent’s father’s stern face immediately softened as he sidled up to his son. “Hey, hey, it’s alright to cry at these things, Vince,” he soothed his father as he wrapped his tree trunk of an arm around his son’s shoulders.

Vincent sighed and a single tear rolled down his cheek before he could stop it. The emotions were so much. He couldn’t believe what he’d been through. All of the schooling and now this - a graduation: which felt like the destruction of his youth. “I don’t even know why I’m crying,” he admitted, his voice hardly trembling. “It’s just so much. I can’t believe I’m like…like a real adult now.”

“It’s alright. Sometimes the emotions can be too much to endure. Come on, bring it in,” Vincent’s dad said, pulling his son in close for a mighty bear hug, which was immediately reciprocated. Immense strength radiated between the Atkinson men as they squeezed each other tenderly as hard as they could. The immeasurable comfort of his father - the man who had helped shape him into the confident, buff specimen he was meant to be - was so much to bear. An involuntary whimper escaped Vincent’s lips as he rested his head on top of one of his father’s strong shoulders. “I love you, kid. I’m so proud of you. We all are!” Vincent’s father added as the two released each other. He wiped a tear of his own from his own face and exhaled.

“Thanks dad,” Vincent replied before coughing and standing up straight again. He sighed and re-flattened one of his French cuffs - obsessed with the idea that his clothes were just an extension of his masculinity. Formalwear was always such a confidence-booster. Reginald had helped inspire that in him. “I think I’m alright now,” Vincent smiled. “I really needed that.”

“Anytime,” Vincent’s dad replied and the two of them headed back to the bathroom door, their two muscular butts both wider than the doorway. “How’s it feel to be a graduate?”

“Incredible,” Vincent smiled. “Like the world is at my fingertips.”

#age progression #mental change #reality change #businessman #male transformtaion #sartorial #weight gain #wealthy #jock #preppy #socialite #butler #muscle growth #belly #balding #gray hair

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Dress For Success

Story by Aardvark: Twitter | Patreon | Ko-fi | Pay-Pal |

Originally posted on Patreon in June 2022. Join now to get stories when they first go up, along with exclusive artwork and my Discord! Just posted two new ones you won't want to miss...

He had classmates at Fun Junction. Classmates riding rollercoasters, eating churros, and getting drenched on the log flume. Another group was at the zoo, taking dumb pictures of each other standing on one leg in front of the flamingos.

And Sage? Sage was touring McCutcheon Insurance.

It wasn’t a punishment, it just felt like one. Luck of the draw. Some classes got fun teachers who organized fun shit, and Sage got boring Mrs. Palmett, who wanted her students to experience the thrill of a corporate office.

“Why’s an insurance company need security like this?” Sage whispered to his friend Julia, as they lined up to go through metal detectors.

“I guess maybe the people they turn down could try to do crazy stuff…what’s that word? The thing people file when their house burns down-”

“Claims.”

“Yeah. People mad about their claims being turned down. That’s my guess.”

“Makes sense,” Sage agreed. “This is gonna suck.”

“Yeah,” Julia said, then she reconsidered. “Or no! Maybe it’ll be interesting. At least we get lunch.”

“I’m never even hungry,” Sage sighed, pulling the drawstring of his sweatpants tighter around the bones jutting from his hips. Saggy pants were definitely not an issue for the security guard overseeing the metal detectors, a big old jacked guy with a belly like a strongman competitor. His skin was wrinkly and red, though when Sage got closer in line, he realized a lot of the wrinkles were just big veins. Veins on the man’s forearms, his temples, even across the exposed part of his chest.

Sage plopped his keys, wallet, and phone on the conveyor belt and walked through the metal detector. It beeped, and he backed up with a sigh as more of his peers walked through while he took off his belt and sent it through the belt too. But once again, the metal detector went off.

“I don’t have any more metal on me…” Sage said, looking down at his sneakers as he felt in his pockets for loose change.

“Might be this,” the guard said, pointing a thick finger at the metal zipper of Sage’s hoodie.

“You want me to send it through?”

“Ain’t goin’ inside otherwise,” the guard said.

Sage turned around and was confronted by an empty floor on the other side of the metal detector. All the students had now been cleared except for him, and were milling on the side talking to each other and playing on their phones as they waited for the last straggler. With reddening cheeks, Sage dumped his hoodie on the conveyor belt and walked through the metal detector.

No beep.

He exhaled in relief and waited for his hoodie to roll through so he could join the group. He slid his belt back on and shoved his items back into his pockets, but after thirty seconds, the hoodie was nowhere to be seen. Then the belt stopped moving altogether.

“Come on, Sage,” Mrs. Palmett said in her husky drone.

“‘Scuse me, uh, do you have my sweatshirt?” Sage asked the guard.

The guard’s brow furrowed and he looked at the screen. “Sweatshirt? There’s nothin’ more in there. Empty.” He swiveled the monitor so Sage could see.

“But I just put it through…like…just now,” Sage said.

“That it?” The guard pointed to a pile of pink fabric at the end of the conveyor belt, the only item left.

“No. It was black.”

“You sure? I remember you taking this off.” The guard picked up the fabric and unfolded it across his barrel chest so Sage could see what it was: a business shirt the color of cotton candy, with white buttons.

“That’s definitely not mine.”

“Your initials S.I.D.?”

“Whoa, yeah. How’d you-”

The guard held out a cuff of the shirt - it was a weird kind of cuff, Sage hadn’t seen it before - but embroidered near the edge was ‘SID’ in blue thread. Sage Indiana Daniels.

“Weird coincidence if it’s not yours!” the guard chuckled.

“SAGE,” Mrs. Palmett said louder.

Harried and embarrassed, Sage grabbed the dress shirt from the guard, slung it over his arm, and shuffled over to the group. “Sorry,” he mumbled to his teacher, and Julia gave him a sympathetic look as the students gathered at the elevator.

“Now,” Mrs. Palmett said to everyone, with her typical severity, “remember that this is a place of work, not an amusement park.”

“How could we forget,” Sage whispered under his breath.

“Do not bother any of the workers, or cause a ruckus,” Mrs. Palmett continued, her finger raised. “You are to be respectful, courteous young men and women, listening to our tour guides and asking questions only when it’s polite. We are guests, this is not our home, so do not behave like it is.” She pressed the elevator button, and the doors opened.

It was immediately clear to Sage that the whole group would not fit on the elevator. Mrs. Palmett strode on first and motioned for the students to collect around her like a mother hen, but after seven bodies got on it became clear that two trips were required.

“I will see you up on the tenth floor,” she said to the remaining group, which included Sage. “Come RIGHT upstairs and we will be waiting. Remember, the ten-”

The doors shut on her mid-sentence.

Sage chortled. “Why’s she acting like we’re gonna run around in here like chimpanzees? We’re not twelve.”

“The only running I’m tempted to do is out the front door,” another kid agreed, and the remaining group laughed.

“What is this?” Julia asked, touching the dress shirt hanging from Sage’s arm.

“The guard made me take it. He lost my hoodie and gave me this.”

“It feels really expensive,” Julia said, taking a pinch of the fabric between her fingers. “The fabric is nice, we studied stuff like this in Sewing. What’s the brand?”

Sage looked inside the collar at the tag. “Bespoke?” He showed Julia the small strip of silk sewn inside the shirt that only said, “Made Bespoke for S.I.D.”

“I guess it doesn’t say,” Julia said, combing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Bespoke means it was made for you. Those are your initials, right? I forgot your middle name was-”

“Don’t say it out loud,” Sage hissed. Stupid hippie parents giving ‘Indiana’ to him for a middle name. WHY would they do that? Just cause his mom was born there was not a good enough reason. Before anyone around them could ask what it was, he changed the subject. “I’m cold.”

“Put your shirt on, then,” Julia shrugged, putting her hands in the pocket of her own hoodie.

“It’s not my shirt! This is my shirt,” Sage said, plucking at his gray tee. “This one must belong to some guy who works here.”

“You can still put it on, you’re literally shivering,” Julia observed. “They really are pumping the a/c in here.”

Sage did not want to put the shirt on. He was worried his classmates would think he was trying to dress up for the office visit, which was the exact reason he’d worn sweats. Jarick Ryerson wore a polo tucked into his khakis and everyone roasted him for it on the bus over, and Sage was not about to be that guy. But the frigid blast of the air conditioner was getting to him, so he slid the dress shirt on and left it unbuttoned over his t-shirt, like a jacket. It was baggy.

“I feel stupid,” he grumbled. “What are these, Miss Fashion?” He held up his wrists toward Julia, displaying the ends of his shirt sleeves.

“Cuffs?”

“But they’re weird.”

“Oh, they’re French cuffs, I think that’s what they’re called. My uncle wears them because he works in finance, and I guess it’s a finance thing, or just fancy. And these are cufflinks.” She tapped her fingernail against the silver piece of jewelry stuck through the folds of fabric, and Sage inspected the accessory. It was a silver square with a bold blue stripe down the center, and the other side had this little…rod-type thing that held the fabric together. It was way dressier than just a simple button.

“Great. That’s what I want to look like, your uncle.”

“My rich uncle,” Julia teased, as the elevator finally arrived. “Maybe you can sell the shirt and the cufflinks online? They look really nice.”

Sage hadn’t thought of that. He certainly had no use for cufflinks - did anyone? - and they did look valuable. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad day after all, he thought as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the elevator wall. The students stood in awkward silence as the lift ascended, all unwilling to talk when forced into such close proximity, so Sage just hung his head and looked at his French cuffs and the cufflinks that were going to make him some money. ‘SID.’ What were the odds, someone in this office had the same initials as him? Sage just hoped he didn’t run into the guy…or the girl. Sage tensed up. This wasn’t a woman’s shirt, was it…no, it couldn’t be, the buttons were on the right side, and the waist didn’t curve inward like girl’s shirts always did. He relaxed as the elevator doors opened to reveal the rest of the group waiting for them.

“Finally, all together,” Mrs. Palmett said. “Everyone, this is Miss Ingalls, she’s the office coordinator and will be giving us a tour today.”

The young woman on Mrs. Palmett’s right waved and told everyone to make a name tag for themselves. The group walked to a table strewn with markers and sheets of white square stickers. Sage waited until a marker freed up, then bent down to scrawl his name. He felt the dress shirt squeeze against him, and straightened up when he noticed the shirt somehow was buttoned over his chest. When did that happen? Must’ve been in the elevator…he undid the two buttons so the shirt hung open over his t-shirt again, then wrote ‘SAGE’ in big red letters and slapped the name tag onto his tee.

Miss Ingalls began with a short history of McCutcheon, how they were one of the biggest employers in town, what they specialized in, blah blah. Sage couldn’t think of a topic more boring than insurance. He distracted himself by playing with his cufflink, inspecting how it worked. The connecting part swiveled so that you could slide it through the buttonholes in the cuff, then flip it back down to fasten everything together. It was actually kind of cool. Sage had never seen a cufflink before, but he could imagine they were good conversation starters.

“Sage,” Julia said, and Sage noticed the group was on the move. He hustled to catch up and once again felt the shirt squeeze against him, but he couldn’t look down until he stopped at the room where the group was standing. Miss Ingalls was talking about something significant for the town that happened in that meeting room, some contract that was signed, but Sage was looking down at his shirt. The two buttons over his chest were connected again. Someone had to be messing with him, but how? He once again opened the buttons, admiring the sparkle of his cufflink as he did so, and this time he moved to take the dress shirt back off. He felt too self-conscious wearing it. But his t-shirt seemed to be stuck to it…he started freeing one arm from the sleeve and felt himself pulling off his tee, too. Unable to do much more without disrupting the group - and risking Mrs. Palmett’s wrath - he left the shirt on.

An office worker walked by in a white shirt, and Sage idly watched the guy pass instead of listening to Miss Ingalls. The worker’s shirt didn’t have French cuffs, so apparently they weren’t required here. But he’d look better with them, Sage thought. Cufflinks certainly dressed up an outfit. The guy felt Sage’s gaze, so he looked over and nodded politely, and Sage nodded back.

The guy walked on, leaving Sage looking at his own blurry reflection in an opaque glass wall. If it weren’t for the glass being warped, Sage would’ve thought his shirt was moving on its own. But then he felt it moving, and he looked down with a jump to see the dress shirt now fully buttoned over his torso.

Sage’s heart raced. A ghost? Was that it? Some ghost insisting his buttons be buttoned? He yanked at the buttons over his chest and pulled them open, exposing bare skin instead of the t-shirt he’d expected to see. The gray tee he’d had on was gone, absorbed into the pink formal shirt he now had no choice but to wear. He felt insane. It was such a noticeable, random change that it made him feel like his life was spiraling out of control, while at the same time making him wonder why he was so panicked. He knew it was just a shirt, and that it didn’t really matter in the scheme of things, but something wasn’t right. He didn’t know how to bring it up to his friends or to his teacher without sounding unhinged, either. So he stood in silence, rubbing his thumb on the surface of his cufflink to keep himself calm, wondering when he could change out of this stupid dress shirt. Maybe there was a gift shop where he could buy a t-shirt? No, dumbass, insurance offices don’t have gift shops…

He looked at his bony fingers resting on the buttons of his shirt. His hands looked so small and insignificant when flanked by such giant cuffs. French cuffs were so in-your-face. Aggressive, just like the oversized cufflinks. They were worn to attract attention, which was the exact thing Sage wanted to avoid.

Needing reassurance, he moved next to Julia and whispered: “Do I look dumb?”

She gave him a weird look and glanced up and down. “No!”

“You promise?”

“Literally fine, you look like a little businessman. Shh!”

“I don’t wanna look like a businessman,” Sage grumbled, but because Miss Ingalls was still talking, he left it at that. He knew Julia was being honest though, which made him feel a little bit better. So he stood and listened to the tour, gently rubbing the dress shirt’s silken weave with his palm.

And for ten minutes, everything was fine. Sage even found part of what was being said to be mildly interesting. The tour guide had a whole section about the craziest claims they’d gotten, like from a bride whose beach wedding went wrong when cinders from a nearby torch blew onto her dress and set it on fire, and the groom carried her into the ocean to douse the flames. She was fine, the dress was not.

But then Sage put his hands on his hips to stretch, and he felt something odd: his shirt was tucked into his sweatpants, and he couldn’t untuck it. There was something holding it down. A quick prodding with his fingers across his thigh identified the likely culprit, some sort of strip of elastic around his leg and metal clips holding onto his shirttail. It held his shirt so tightly tucked that there wasn’t a single wrinkle on it. And he couldn’t very well reach into his pants in the middle of this office to unbuckle this weird device, so he was once again stuck wearing something that he hadn’t put on.

Sage spent the next ten minutes formulating plans of how he could escape the clothes he was inexplicably imprisoned in. Maybe one of the other guys had a t-shirt in their backpack and he could change in the bathroom. That was the easiest solution, if he was lucky. Otherwise he’d have to ask Mrs. Palmett if he could leave and find a store so he could change out of the dress shirt. That would take some real sweet-talking, and there needed to be a store close enough. At the very least, he needed to sneak to the bathroom, take off the clips keeping his shirt tucked, and make his outfit look more casual somehow. He just felt so contained. He was used to wearing soft, formless clothes - loose t-shirts and cotton sweats. To have a tailored dress shirt tucked in so tightly he couldn’t take a deep breath, and big cuffs weighing down his wrists, and a tall collar rubbing against his neck…he didn’t enjoy it. It made him feel stiff.

“All right,” Miss Ingalls said, clapping her manicured hands together. Sage’s mood brightened. This had to be lunch! “You’re going to be dividing up into groups to meet individual McCutcheon employees, hear about their roles and responsibilities, and ask them questions.”

Sage held back his groan, but only barely.

“You’ll be in groups of three, which I have PRE-SET,” Mrs. Palmett said, hitting the ‘t’ in ‘set’ like she was mad at it. She began reading the names aloud, sending the corresponding students to the waiting employee down the hall.

“Brittney Childers, Whitney Childers, Sage Daniels - you’ll be with Mr. Englund.”

Sage once again had to fight back audible despair. Not the Childers twins! The girls who never shut up. On the plus side, that meant he wouldn’t have to talk much. He followed the two blond girls down the hall to where Mr. Englund, the McCutcheon employee, had waved them over. They stepped into a small meeting room with four chairs.

“I should’ve dressed up more!” was the first thing Mr. Englund said, and he was looking straight at Sage when he said it. He was wearing a blue Oxford shirt tucked into jeans. “I’m John Englund,” he said, extending his hand to Sage.

“Sage Daniels, pleased to meet you,” Sage said with a crack in his voice. The twins next to him giggled as his cheeks turned red, but Mr. Englund didn’t mention it.

“Beautiful shirt, Sage. Takes a confident man to wear cufflinks! Where’d you get it?”

“The shirt? Oh, uh…” What was the word Julia explained to him? “Bespoke. It’s bespoke.” He was sure he was pronouncing it wrong.

“Even more impressive! The pants are great too. Brooks Brothers, right? I have a pair just like them.”

“No, they’re…” Sage was going to say Target, where he’d bought his sweatpants. But he wasn’t wearing sweatpants. He was wearing tan wool trousers with razor-sharp creases down the front of each pant leg. A brown leather belt with a gold buckle held them up around his waist and affirmed the unyielding tuck of his dress shirt. “They’re…th-they’re…” he stammered, voice cracking more from his confusion and nerves. “Sure, yeah - Brooks Brothers-”

“Cufflinks and Brooks Brothers! You’re a real old-school businessman, Mr. Daniels,” John teased, turning his attention to the Childers twins to introduce himself to them. Sage didn’t listen to them because his head was swimming. He nearly collapsed into the office chair, his shirt pulling tight against his back thanks to its tuck. His legs bobbed nervously, the elegant wool of his trousers rubbing back and forth. He didn’t want to be dressed like this - in fact, he HATED being dressed like this, and there was nothing he could do about it without seeming like a crackhead. He didn’t wear or own business clothes, and if he did, he wouldn’t wear these kinds. He’d be in jeans, like John Englund, not these uncool slacks that made him look like an old man.

“I’m a Business-to-Business Marketing Strategist, at the VP level,” John said. “I focus on designing and executing McCutcheon’s strategic approach to small businesses - basically, I try to make us appealing as an insurance provider to other businesses, instead of individual customers.”

The twins were smiling and nodding as if they had a clue what any of this shit meant. Sage didn’t even know, and he knew he was smarter than the Childers girls. But John talked in long sentences and used a lot of big words. Sage thought it was cool that the guy wasn’t just some low-level insurance salesman, but there was only so much John could do to make his job seem like it wasn’t boring or corporate. Maybe his job wasn’t entirely boring - though it was definitely pretty boring - but it was corporate as hell. He literally had “Corporate Vice President” as his job title.

John rambled for fifteen minutes about his role, telling a few stories about trade shows or marketing campaigns, while Sage drifted in and out as he worried about his formal clothes. But after the twins asked a couple questions, Sage realized the room was silent, and that he seemed to be expected to say something.

He leaned forward, scraping his cufflink on the meeting table. “Do you like your job?”

John raised his eyebrows. “Good question! I do! People don’t usually ask so directly. But I do like it.”

“What’s the best part of it?” Sage asked.

“The people, which is a cliche answer but it’s true. Work sucks if you don’t like your coworkers, I know from experience. McCutcheon hires nice, collaborative people, and they’ve let me grow in the areas I’m most passionate about. And honestly, the pay is pretty good. I’m happy here.” Mr. Englund looked through the glass window of the meeting room, where Miss Ingalls was motioning to him to wrap up. “Oh, looks like we need to get going. Any other questions?”

Sage and the twins both shook their heads. All four stood and headed toward the door, Mr. Englund stopping to shake the twins’ hands before making his way to Sage. “Gucci!” he said to Sage.

“Uh, yeah, everything’s Gucci,” Sage said awkwardly. People didn’t really say that anymore but he didn’t want the guy to feel-

Mr. Englund laughed. “No, your loafers. Gucci!”

Sage’s heart sank. He looked down at his sneakers, and sure enough, they weren’t sneakers. They were brown loafers with gleaming gold horsebits across the top. Sage had no idea if they were Gucci - Gucci was really expensive, right? - but if Mr. Englund said they were, he was probably right.

“I love your style, man. So old-school. You’ll have to give me tips someday!” Mr. Englund pumped Sage’s hand in an aggressive handshake. “You have a good one, Mr. Daniels.”

“You too,” Sage said weakly, walking strangely thanks to his sudden awareness of the dress socks and expensive shoes on his feet. The horsebit loafers clacked. Sage was mortified. It was like having a bullhorn announcing his arrival as he walked down the hall. He tried to think about how he could make some money selling the cufflinks and Gucci shoes online after this was all over, but the bizarre circumstances surrounding his acquisition of them dulled his excitement. When he joined the group of reconvening students, he could feel judgmental eyes on his outfit. He didn’t blame them, he would’ve done the same if someone else turned up in French cuffs and dress trousers. He wanted to explain it wasn’t his fault, but there was no way to, so he kept quiet and waited for his chance to break away.

His stomach, however, did not keep quiet. It let out a low, long gurgle that turned several heads his way, heads that then saw his formal business outfit too. Sage put his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor as his stomach continued to growl. He’d been so distracted by his clothing that he hadn’t noticed his growing hunger. And now he, the boy who was never hungry, was starving.

“I think we’re all ready for lunch,” Miss Ingalls said to the group, talking a bit louder to cover the sound of Sage’s stomach. “If you’ll all follow me, we’ve had catering set up in the common area.”

Sage caught up to Julia as the group began to walk. “Look at this crap!” he said, pulling on his pant legs. He walked on his toes so his loafers didn’t clack against the floor.

“Oh my god, I told you, you look fine,” Julia said. “Palmett will probably give you extra credit for dressing up like an executive.”

“I never dress like this!” Sage insisted. “Why am I dressed like this?! I look like an old man.”

“You do not, calm down. Whoa, are those Gucci?”

“I don’t know, they just appeared,” Sage said, thrusting out his foot to look at his designer shoe. “Do you think they’re like…Gucci Gucci? Like I could probably sell them?”

“I’m not an expert on if they’re real or not, they just look really nice. Did you buy them from Gucci?” Julia nearly walked into a wall as she continued looking down at Sage’s feet.

“I didn’t buy them!” Sage was exasperated. “They just appeared!”

“Well, whatever, they look nice. Just own it, what else can you do?”

“I wanna change clothes. I look like a nerd.”

“Nerds don’t dress like that! You look classy.” They turned the corner to see a spread of sandwiches and salads beneath a sign taped to the wall that read, ‘DON’T TOUCH - FOR SCHOOL TOUR!’ The group was already lining up, paper plates in hand. Sage grabbed one and waited his turn, eyeing a particularly large turkey club that he hoped no one else took before him.

Sage heard someone say “Excuse me sir?”, but didn’t realize he was the ‘sir’ being addressed until he felt two taps on his shoulder. There was a slender guy in a shirt and tie standing next to him. “You don’t need to wait in line, we have your meal for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes, it was requested in advance. We have it set up in the private area where it’s less noisy.” The man took the paper plate from Sage’s hands and set it down, then guided the young student out of the common area and around the corner to a small room that required a keycard to access. The room had two red leather booths like a restaurant, with windows and blond hardwood floors. At one of the booths was a silver platter with a dome on it, which the man quickly removed to reveal a huge, juicy steak the size of the entire china plate on which it sat. Next to it on the tray was a caesar salad with croutons, and two Diet Cokes in glass bottles with the caps already removed. “Bon appetit!”

“Dude, I think you have the wrong guy, I don’t think this is for me-”

“Your initials are S.I.D. right?” The man looked at the embroidered monogram on Sage’s cuff, then pointed to the small place card on the tray that said “FOR S.I.D.”

“Well…yeah…but-”

“Then enjoy your steak, sir. I’ll leave you to it.” The man smiled and left, shutting the door behind him.

Sage stared at the shut door for a few moments, confused and nervous that the real S.I.D. would walk in and ask why his - or her - steak was being eaten. But when a minute passed and no one burst in, Sage sat down on the seat and looked at the food. It smelled incredible. The plate said “The Palm” on the rim, which was a really fancy hotel and restaurant nearby - had they brought this in from there? They must’ve. Wild. Sage wondered if he’d ever eaten nicer food.

There were three white linen napkins folded on the tray. Sage put one across his lap, then realized it would probably be good to protect the dress shirt since it wasn’t his, so he tucked another napkin into his collar. That really made him feel like an old man, but at least no one was here to see it. He’d still have to eat carefully to make sure nothing got on his beautiful cuffs, so he cut the meat gingerly, the serrated steak knife sliding right through and revealing a hefty strip of pink inside. Sage took a piece on his silver fork, dipped it in the provided red wine sauce, then placed it in his mouth.

“Mmmmm…” he groaned aloud, this time a happy groan. The steak practically melted on his tongue. The sauce was perfect. Suddenly, the day was good again. He took a bite of salad, a swig of soda, tastes all swirling together in his mouth. Everything was delicious, but the steak was the obvious highlight. He cut a bigger bite and savored it before gulping it down, feeling the hefty piece move down his gullet. He was glad he was alone, liberated from the worries about his clothes, or from trying to force conversation with his classmates. Some of the guys definitely would’ve tried to steal some steak, too, and he was not about to share something this incredible. This was all for him. Sure, it was a massive slab of beef, but Sage was decently confident he could eat it all. He hunched over his tray, sticking his neck out to minimize the risk of staining his clothes as he shoveled steak into his mouth. His bites got progressively larger as he focused solely on eating, allowing himself to smack his lips together and, if the bite was too large, even chew with his mouth open. He probably looked like a cow chewing its cud, he thought, which was ironic since he was eating a cow.

The salad was good too, especially the croutons. Sage never gave much thought to salad in general, but the lettuce was crisp and the dressing wasn’t overly fishy. Even the Diet Cokes were ice cold. This was a really good lunch. So good that when he noticed how much of the steak was gone, he felt a twinge of disappointment. The more plate that became visible, the slower and more methodically Sage ate. He wasn’t going to waste a moment with this divine meal.

After taking the final bite, Sage polished off his second Diet Coke and leaned back in his seat thoroughly satisfied. He raised his arms above his head and stretched, though the tuck of his shirt limited the movement, and then he unleashed the loudest belch he’d ever heard himself make. It caused him to burst into amused laughter at himself as he removed the napkin from his collar. He noticed that at some point his shirt’s second button had come undone, exposing more of his chest, so he closed it back up and surveyed his tray. He’d eaten everything. There wasn’t a drop of soda left in the bottles. The plate and sauce dish were so cleaned, they almost looked like they’d gone through the dishwasher. The only evidence of his salad was a single shred of parmesan, which he picked up between two fingers and popped into his mouth.

“Goddamn, that was good,” he said out loud, drumming his hands on the table. Then he realized he should clear his place, so he stood up to do so, feeling a slight wave of dizziness from getting up too quickly. He picked up the tray and looked around, but couldn’t see anywhere in the room to deposit it, so he set it back down and opened the door. Thankfully, he didn’t see any of his classmates before he locked eyes with the same guy who’d set him up in the room. The skinny guy had to be some kind of assistant, because he hurried right over when he saw Sage looking around.

“Are you all finished, sir?” he asked, and Sage looked down at him in confusion. Hadn’t they been the same height…Sage looked at the sole of one of his loafers and saw they had a slight heel. Maybe that was why.

“Yes, all done,” Sage said. “I didn’t know where to take the dishes.”

“Don’t worry about that, sir, I’ll handle them,” the man smiled. “I hope you enjoyed it?”

“Dude, it was literally the best lunch I’ve ever had,” Sage said. “It was so good. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, sir. Would you like your cigar now?”

Sage blinked. He thought he’d misheard. “My what?”

“Your cigar.”

“Oh, uhm, I…well, uh…” Sage stammered. He didn’t know what to say. “Smoking is allowed in here?”

The man chuckled. “No, those rules haven’t changed! You would need to go outside.”

Outside! This was his shot to sneak away and get new clothes! Sage couldn’t believe his luck. “I’d love to have my cigar now,” he nodded, having no intention of smoking one. He’d never smoked a cigar. If there was a special method, he didn’t know it. But if it got him outside without having to ask his teacher for permission, he’d happily pretend to be a cigar smoker until he was left alone and could slink off to a t-shirt store. “As long as it doesn’t get me in trouble,” Sage added.

“In trouble? No, I don’t think anyone minds. Is this the right one?” The assistant produced a long, thick cigar out of his jacket pocket and thrust it under Sage’s nose.

Sage recoiled, but not before he inhaled and smelled…livestock? A barnyard? The thing smelled like a farm. Was that how cigars smelled? Sage didn’t know why he’d felt a stir in his crotch when he smelled the cigar, but he knew he wasn’t going to smoke it, so he lied. “Smells great!” he choked, turning to follow the assistant down the hall to the elevator bank, which mercifully meant he didn’t have to go past his tour group.

Sage expected the man to walk away once the elevator button was pressed, but upon the car’s arrival they both got on, and Sage wondered how long he’d be chaperoned. “You’d like me to cut it for you, yes?” the assistant asked, producing a small metal device from his jacket pocket.

“Cut it? Um…sure?” Sage had no idea what that meant, so he watched with curiosity as the man guillotined the tip. Then his eyes drifted to his reflection in the plexiglass coverings on the elevator car’s walls. The second button on his dress shirt was open again, and when he reached up to close it, his hands brushed against his stomach. It was bloated from his big meal, and when he turned to the side he could see it arching outward over his belt buckle. It was only an inch of projection, barely noticeable, but it was the first time Sage had seen his stomach have any dimension to it. He placed his palm on his stomach and wondered if it could jiggle, but it was hard to the touch. Honestly, it was probably just gas, Sage thought to himself as the elevator arrived at the ground floor.

As they walked out of the elevator, Sage could see the main doors of the building leading outside to his freedom. But instead of heading toward them, the assistant turned to the left and walked around the elevator bank, heading to the back of the building. Sage hustled to catch up. “Are we not going out front?” he asked innocently.

“Don’t forget the building rules!” the assistant said. “No smoking in the front. They told everyone to do it in the courtyard.”

“The courtyard?”

On cue, the assistant hit the crash bar on a large, windowless door, which opened out into a leafy area. Sage followed and felt his shoulders slump immediately: the courtyard was in the center of the building, fully internal, with doors leading back inside on all four sides. It offered a nice view of the sky, but no direct exit to the outside world.

“Confirming you’d like me to light it for you?” the assistant asked. At Sage’s forlorn nod, he put the cigar in his mouth, took out a lighter, and toasted the stogie on all sides before lighting it. Once it was solidly smoldering, he handed it to Sage with a friendly smile. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said, and with that he finally went inside and left Sage alone.

Sage looked at his hand clutching the cigar - probably incorrectly, he thought - and the chunky French cuff under it. That was kind of a cool image, he thought. His cuff was so rigid, so stiff, but surrounded by the freeform white smoke curling off of the cigar’s tip. He noticed the end of the cigar was the same size as his cufflink, both larger than he expected them to be, not that he was an expert. Slowly, uncertainly, he raised the cigar to his mouth and placed it between his lips. Was he supposed to put it between his teeth? He wasn’t sure, so he didn’t. He remembered reading something that said not to inhale when smoking a cigar, so he sucked in his cheeks, let the taste roll around his mouth, then blew out a stream of pretty white smoke. He felt cool until he coughed from the strong flavors: spice, leather, maybe chocolate?

There were windows inside the building looking down into the courtyard, and Sage wondered if any of his classmates would walk by and see him smoking. If it was going to make them jealous, he hoped they saw. Even though everyone knew smoking was bad, it did look cool. And Sage felt cool doing it, even if he was wearing dorky clothes. He put his hands in his pockets, twisting his wrists so his cufflinks stuck out, and looked at his reflection in one of the ground-floor atrium windows. With the cigar in his mouth and a plume of white smoke covering his face, his reflection looked like that of a slender, elegant businessman. It chubbed him up, and the hardening of his member made him think about how phallic a cigar really was. He took it out of his mouth and looked at it, smoke floating around his French cuff. “So dope,” he grinned. He wondered if the clothes that he resented were actually the reason for all this special treatment; that the building employees had seen the kid in the beautiful dress shirt and gorgeous designer shoes and thought he was somebody important. He knew he wasn’t important, but in this moment - alone, smoking a cigar, dressed like a bigshot - he let himself pretend he was.

The courtyard had a stone bench, but there was dirt on it, so Sage didn’t sit. Instead, he put one foot on it and leaned on his thigh, trying to teach himself how to smoke a cigar. He thought he was doing a good job with it. It felt natural. And he enjoyed identifying all the different tastes he encountered the longer he smoked - within the leathery spiciness, notes of grape and cream also popped up. He reached between his legs and pulled on his inseam, which was bunching up…his pants actually felt kind of tight across his butt, which was funny since he had no butt to speak of. And with his leg elevated, his post-lunch bloat had enough heft to fold slightly over his belt buckle. But since Sage was alone, he felt less embarrassed about these things. Once he went back inside, he’d check them out. For the time being, he could enjoy the plumes of smoke pouring from his mouth and curling into his vision. He really liked cigars, it turned out!

One drawback was how long they took to smoke. Sage checked his watch and realized he’d already been outside for fifteen minutes, and the cigar was barely a third gone. He’d thought this would be a quick break, then he’d be back in…side…

He nearly dropped the cigar as he flipped his left wrist back up to his face. His watch?! Why was he wearing a watch? He didn’t even own a watch! And he’d never heard of this brand…Breitling? He’d google it later. The watch was really nice. And heavy. Brown leather strap with a silver face. It looked fucking cool nestled under the French cuff, matching the silver cufflink and the drifting white smoke…

Sage took another long drag off his cigar and accidentally made a smoke ring as he exhaled, a phenomenon he tried and failed to replicate. He gave that up and instead made a game out of keeping the ash from falling off the tip of his cigar, lifting it carefully to and from his mouth. His hands looked good today, which he knew was an odd thing to think. But they looked strong - not a word he ever used to describe himself. He took long looks at them as they drifted in and out of his vision with each draft off his cigar. His fingers weren’t spindly like he remembered, they were thick and stout - just like the cigar they were gripping - with broad knuckles and clean fingernails. Veins bulged across their backs, twisting like vines up to his fingers and down into his sleeve. He had man hands. Strong, forceful mitts perfect for handshakes and back slaps.

He didn’t want to question it, but he knew his hands hadn’t looked that adult earlier. He remembered how goofy his soft little hands looked when compared to the aggressive masculinity of his cufflinks. They didn’t look like that anymore. His big, muscular cuffs were matched by big, muscular hands. Muscular hands that clutched his cigar like it was a cock, spewing forth manly essence in the form of smoke.

His erection annoyed him. He was worried about all the odd happenings of the day, and here he was pitching a tent in his trousers. Stupid teenage adrenaline and hormones. That would need to calm down before he went back inside. If he was facing his peers dressed like he was, he was not going to be sporting a chubby at the same time. He hoped the guys would be jealous of his cigar, at least. And that he didn’t get in trouble with Mrs. Palmett for smelling like one. It wasn’t a bad smell, but smoke was smoke.

Speaking of getting in trouble, though Sage liked the cigar and wanted to smoke all of it, he’d been away from the group a long time. Turned out cigars took forever to smoke. Maybe if he was with a buddy it’d be different, but alone, the time passed slowly. Unsure of how to proceed, he walked over to the door, listening to the click-click-click of his leather soles on the concrete, and opened it.

Somehow he knew the assistant would be there waiting. The guy was leaning against the wall on his phone, but straightened up as soon as he saw Sage. “Am I supposed to smoke-” Sage stopped and coughed, his throat gunky from the cigar, but nothing dislodged. His words were like a frog’s croak. “Am I supposed to smoke all of it?”

The assistant looked surprised by the question. “No! Or yes! Whatever you want, really. Feeling finished?”

“Yeah, I’m - ahem! - feeling like I should get back upstAIRs…” Sage forced out another cough. “...and get some water.”

“Sure thing. Want me to get rid of that?” The man extended his hand for the cigar.

“Just a moment.” Sage walked back outside and took one last loving drag off the cigar, blasting out a cloud of white smoke that he relished walking through as he inhaled it into his nostrils and mouth. With his back to the man, he pawed at his boner to hide it as best as he could, surprised by the rough strength of his hands. Then, he turned back and gave the cigar away. “Okay,” he said.

Sage looked at the front doors of the building as they walked back to the elevator. So close, yet so far. He had to admit he liked some of the beautiful clothes - especially the cufflinks and the watch - but he didn’t like standing out among his classmates. Plus, even if he did buy a tee to replace his dress shirt, he’d still have the formal trousers and loafers to deal with, and he didn’t have the budget to buy a new pair of shoes. So he followed the man onto the elevator and watched the doors close, cutting off his escape.

It was a silent ride back to the tenth floor, except for the thoughts roaring in Sage’s head. The plexiglass in the elevator didn’t offer a mirror-perfect reflection, but he could make things out: like how the second button of his shirt was open again. The extra space made his collar points look even longer. The business shirts his dad wore had bashful, skinny little collars…this collar was brawny and bold, demanding attention like his cuffs, and like the shirt’s rich pink color. But the pink wasn’t enough to hide his nipples, which were the next thing he noticed. Usually his nipples were small and flat, but today they were poking out against the rosy fabric. In fact, they’d gotten puffy, like small cones built specifically to elevate the front of his shirt. Sage discreetly looked to check if he could see the nipples of the guy with him. He couldn’t, and he felt stupid for trying. But when turned to the side, he noticed his belly bloat hadn’t abated - in fact, it looked to have gotten worse. By his estimate, his stomach protruded out three or four inches now, the underside of it hugged delicately by his belt buckle.

Sage put his palm on his belly and looked down nervously, noticing the round shape in his shirt just as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. He looked back up and slouched forward, feeling so strange and self-conscious, and followed the assistant to a small bathroom right by the private dining area where he’d eaten earlier. The man first ducked into the kitchen quickly, grabbing a bottle of water for Sage. “I know you always brush your teeth after a cigar,” the assistant said.

Sage didn’t say anything at first, twisting off the bottle cap and chugging half the water in one gulp. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. “I don’t have a toothbrush with me…” he said after a swallow, and his eyes went wide. His voice still sounded bizarre - no longer like a frog’s croak, but no less deep. In fact, it sounded even deeper now to his ears. “Is that…” he gulped. “Is my voice really deep?” he asked.

“You’re asking me?”

Sage took another drink of water and tried to shake it off. “Yes, how deep would you say my voice is?” he said, horrified to hear his voice sounding even lower, every word emerging solemn and imperious.

“Well, it’s rather hard to describe, sir. I’d simply say you have the deepest voice I’ve ever heard.”

Sage’s erection bobbed in his pants. His cheeks turned as pink as his shirt. “I do?” he asked, two short words that still reverberated within his chest like a train in a cave.

“Yes! Surely you know you have a deep voice?” the assistant smiled. He had a completely normal voice for an adult man, but it sounded like a bird chirping when compared to Sage’s. “Also, there’s a toothbrush and toothpaste in there for you. The group is meeting at that door directly at the end of the hall, so you can go in whenever you’d like to join them.”

“Thanks,” Sage said, barely able to hear the guy over the panicked thoughts in his head.

“Anything else you need from me?”

“No.” Sage shook his head. He wanted to say more to the guy, but he hated hearing his voice, so he kept it brief and met the man’s handshake, then let him go. He was happy to once again be alone, this time in the locked bathroom, but the mirror’s reflection was daunting. When had his nipples gotten so pointy…and his belly! He poked a finger into the spherical protrusion over his belt and wondered why he didn’t feel bloated. Using the bathroom would probably get rid of it, but he didn’t need to go. Even so, he unzipped his fly - jeez louise was it long, stupid old man pants - and reached into his pants, when he was immediately reminded of that strange contraption that kept his shirt tucked in. But he was already worried about being away from the group for so long, especially since they were already in the next session, so he made the difficult call to not try to remove it. Instead he pulled his penis out of his underwear, aimed it at the toilet bowl…and then gasped.

That wasn’t his dick, was it? It was like he was looking at it for the first time. He knew they kind of changed sizes based on room temperature and stuff, so it didn’t surprise him that his shaft was shorter in this cold room. What was shocking was the thickness. The couple of inches of length he’d lost were more than made up for by the girthy brick he was looking at. And it draped over the biggest balls he’d ever seen. Like golf balls. Maybe bigger, actually. And so hairy. He nervously prodded around inside his fly, fingers touching bush everywhere they went. It was like he was wearing briefs made of pubes.

He forced out a pathetic dribble of pee, shook himself clean and tucked away the foreign cock. But he couldn’t make it sit right now. No matter how he tried to adjust it, his gigantic nuts made his bulge look ridiculous. What was the man’s version of camel toe? It was an animal too - moose knuckle. That was it. He had a big moose knuckle. Great.

“Least my balls are big…” he grumbled, squeezing some toothpaste onto the small disposable toothbrush. It looked so small in his broad, brutal hand - maybe this whole thing was an allergic reaction to something, and that’s why his hands were swollen too. Except if they were swollen, would his veins look so large and noticeable? He pondered this as he bent over to make sure no toothpaste dribbled onto his shirt, then backed up when he felt his stomach push against the sink. He made sure he covered every area of his mouth, in case the cigar was smellier than he realized, then spat and rinsed.

No sooner had he leaned forward to check his workmanship in the mirror than he leaned back with a startled cry. His thick fingers flew up to his mouth and pulled on his teeth, thinking he was wearing false ones somehow, like those sets you could buy at Halloween stores. But nothing in his mouth moved, and after a moment of composing himself, he inspected his mouth again. In between his lips were two rows of the most perfect teeth he’d ever seen: pure white, completely aligned, and sparkling like a disco ball. They looked fake, and they made his mouth move differently. He was sure they were porcelain veneers - his neighbor had gotten some years ago, and they looked exactly like this. But WHY were they in his mouth?!

“This is insane…” he squeaked under his breath, backing up to check himself in the mirror before he left. He looked good, he just didn’t look like himself. Those stupid nipples poking out…they looked even larger now. He shut his eyes when he turned around because he didn’t want to see how far his belly stuck out.

Think about the good things, he told himself. The windfall that would be coming his way once he sold the watch, shoes, and cufflinks…that freaking amazing steak he’d eaten…discovering that he liked cigars…heck, those big balls in his underwear too. Maybe even the scary bass that had taken up residence in his throat for the time being, if he could get used to it.

He took a deep breath before he walked out, then grimaced when he felt his belt buckle dig into his stomach. He had to walk leaning slightly back to balance out the bloat up front, and when he took another steadying breath before walking into the room, his belly pressed up against the door. Sage shut his eyes and walked in.

As expected, the room went quiet when he walked in. Students were strewn around the meeting room with papers and pens, working in groups as Mrs. Palmett and Miss Ingalls watched over them. Heads turned toward the door when they heard it open.

“I’m sorry,” Sage said.

His teacher wasn’t as angry as he expected. She looked irritated, but that was also kind of just her face. “Choose a group to work with,” was all she said. Sage lumbered over to Julia’s group and grabbed a rolling office chair from nearby, but as he squatted down, his hips crashed into the armrests and blocked him from sitting. He managed to pop back up to his feet instead of falling on the floor, but he heard suppressed snickers behind him as he turned around and analyzed the chair. Was it a small chair? Like for a child? It looked to be the same size as the ones all the other students were sitting in…

“I’ll stand,” he grumbled, looming over the seated group. “What are you guys working on?”

Everyone answered at once, but Sage made out that they were building marketing proposals for McCutcheon’s Christmas campaign. The team was mid-discussion, so Sage tuned in as they talked about things they could do: TV ads, billboards, TikToks. He folded his arms across his chest as he listened, but when he found his forearms resting on top of his belly, he quickly moved his hands to his pant pockets instead. He hung his head to angle his ear toward the group, but it also allowed him to look at his stomach. It rounded out in a perfect sphere, the pearl buttons of his shirt straining. He couldn’t see his loafers! That made him horribly self-conscious, though he felt slightly better when he noticed one of the boys in his group looking at his cufflinks. Probably wondering what they were, he thought.

“We could do something that’s like…encouraging people to do something nice for other people,” a girl in the group said. “You know, like, it’s Christmas…and aren’t there a lot of robberies around then too? So you could have something where you can buy gifts for kids who need them, and it gets you a discount on your insurance, because you want insurance in case your gifts get stolen. What’s that called, when it’s like, charity-”

“Philanthropic marketing,” Sage interjected. He saw every person in the group react to the sound of his voice, so he did his best to soften his tone, though the pitch remained deep as ever. “I think that’s what you mean?”

“That sounds right,” the girl said, staring up in awe.

“It’s a good idea,” Sage said.

“Sorry, off topic, but Sage, dude, have you been working out? Your arms look crazy,” one of the boys in the group said.

“They do?” Sage glanced at his right arm and saw the shape of a developed bicep against the pink fabric. “I think it’s just my shirt.” That had to be it. The way his shirt fit. He was scrawny, he knew.

“Well, whatever it is, you look jacked. Sorry, anyway, back to the topic…” The group started working in earnest on the philanthropic marketing idea, but Sage remained focused on his arms. He clenched his fist and was surprised to see motion ripple through his blousy sleeve. His upper arms felt swollen and water-logged, and now he was conscious of their weight resting against his torso. Discreetly, he tensed his tricep and it moved - he’d never felt that before! When he tried a second time, he felt something wobble in his chest…a pleasant surprise, since he’d never given any consideration to having muscle there. Of course he knew he did, it was just invisible since it wasn’t developed. None of his muscles were. But when he tried flexing different ones - butt, thigh, bicep again - it was fun to feel his clothes stir from the motion.

Unfortunately, it also seemed to trigger an unpleasant soreness throughout Sage’s body. His hips ached, and rocking back and forth on his feet did nothing to alleviate the throbbing throughout his joints. He wasn’t tired, but felt like he would if he’d spent the last week working every muscle every day. Stiff from top to bottom. Tight. Not only his muscles, but his clothes. The fabric was stretched taut over his back, his ass, his stomach…it made him feel even more uncomfortable than he already did, and the growing worry that he was going to rip his beautiful clothes drowned out the voices of his group.

“Mm-” his throat made a spontaneous noise as twinges of discomfort racked his limbs. He didn’t realize it was audible until he saw other students in the group looking up at him.

“You okay?” Julia asked.

“I need some aspirin, I think,” he rumbled, finding a handkerchief in his pocket which he used to dab his forehead.

“Ask them if you can go get some!”

“Do you think they have any here?” Sage’s voice was like the purr of a mighty lion, velvety yet powerful. Even when he was feeling so uncertain, he sounded like he had complete command over the situation.

“They must. Or maybe Palmett has some in her purse.”

Sage nodded and moved his handkerchief to the back of his neck, mopping up beads of sweat before they touched his collar. “Dude, look at his arm,” he heard someone say, but he ignored it as he thumped over to Mrs. Palmett and Miss Ingalls.

They looked up at him - he was taller than them both, it suddenly dawned on him - with unreadable expressions. Surprise? Respect? Sage couldn’t tell. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said politely. “I was wondering if there was any aspirin around here. I have a…” He didn’t know how to explain that he was experiencing full body aches, so he fibbed, “...a very bad headache.”

“There’s a first aid kit that has aspirin in it by the stairwell, you’ll see it mounted on the wall,” Miss Ingalls said sympathetically, “and there’s a kitchen right by there where you can get a glass of water.”

“I can get it for him,” Mrs. Palmett said. “You can keep work–”

“No, I will get it myself,” Sage said firmly, surprising himself with his own directness. “You need to watch the students.”

He waited for his teacher to tear into him for his disrespect. Instead, she nodded and said, “That’s fine.”

Sage didn’t wait for her to change her mind. He hustled toward the door, though it felt like a slow waddle - he wasn’t able to move remotely fast, not even his normal walking pace. That was strange. But he stopped thinking about it as soon as he left the room, turned toward the stairwell, and saw something small and white fly like a bullet down the hall.

Sage’s head snapped downward just in time to see a second button pop off his shirt, baring his bellybutton - and revealing some dark curls on his formerly hairless stomach. “Nooo…” he said, unsure of what to be most horrified by: his buttons bursting, or his belly’s size, or its hairiness. As he took a couple more steps, he put his hand on the front of his globose stomach to cover it, but his fingers brushed against…buttons. He stopped and looked down, confused to see his ball belly smartly contained by his dress shirt, the buttons taut and firm.

“Oh, thank good-”

POP! POP!

Though his legs didn’t move, Sage’s belly seemed to take a step forward, bursting once again out of his shirt to reveal its new mass. Sage groaned in confusion, then swore he heard his belt unbuckle and rebuckle itself - but that couldn’t be - and he had no way of checking, because he couldn’t see his belt buckle.

He took off down the hall, noticing once more that his shirt buttons were healed - and this time just waiting for them to explode. And explode they did, three now instead of just two, nearly pulling Sage to his knees as his belly surged out two feet in front of him. He had to straighten his arms fully to touch the front of it. Once again the buttons were mended, tight as drumheads.

“I’m going crazy,” he whimpered, finally arriving at the first aid kit. As he rummaged around for the pre-packaged aspirin, his belly mashed into the wall - it felt like concrete on concrete, two immovable objects. His ball gut was solid as stone, the ridges of his abdomen stretched to gigantic size over the spherical curve, like a series of tortoise shells stacked together.

Aspirin procured, he set off for the kitchen ten feet away, listening to the stomps of his feet and his heavy breathing. He felt like he was stuck inside a suit of armor, or one of the sumo suits he’d seen at parties - a comparison that became all the more apt when he rounded the corner and a small young man in a shirt and tie bounced off his belly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry sir!” the guy said.

“Sorry,” Sage rasped, trying to not get distracted. There was a water dispenser on the kitchen counter, and he staggered over to it, set off-balance by the collision.

“I’ve never seen you around the office before,” the guy said from behind Sage. “I should get workout tips from you.”

POP! POP! Buttons clattered across the counter, and Sage looked down expecting his ball gut to have grown. But this time, it was the upper buttons of his shirt, the ones over his chest. He’d broadened. “Oh no,” he whimpered, reddening further when he realized he couldn’t reach the water dispenser. His belly pushed into the counter and kept him too far away.

“Would you mind filling up a glass of water for me?” Sage asked the guy, who reacted to the depth of his bass like everyone else did.

“Sure thing, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me sir,” Sage said, checking to make sure his chest was covered up. Sure enough, the buttons were back, but there was something happening under them - it felt like his nipples were moving, and he could see them shifting further apart through his shirt fabric. His buttons began to gap, revealing developing cleavage in the center of his chest. Sweat beaded on Sage’s forehead. He didn’t want to breathe. Didn’t want to burst any more buttons in front of this guy. But it was going to happen, he had a sinking feeling, and there was no way to leave before it did. He couldn’t move fast enough. The only thing that moved fast was his muscles, apparently, the way they were swelling under his skin…he could see his chest reshaping the front of his shirt, the muscles growing rounder, firmer, and bigger.

A whole lot bigger. He had tits…why did he have tits, he didn’t want tits! And they were unmissable. There was no way to hide them…

“There you go,” the young man said, offering the cup of water to Sage. “Way easier than going out to get coffee for everyone, which is what I usually do.”

“Oh, you’re the intern,” Sage realized. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you do bitch work. I just really couldn’t reach.” He popped the aspirin in his mouth and tipped the water cup back, his shirt bursting open up top as his new man-tits ballooned. A droplet of water trickled out of the cup and off Sage’s chin, disappearing into the crevice between the two brand new mountains. His pecs looked even bigger when they smashed together as he felt his shirt re-button itself over their new glorious mass, skintight even with the top two buttons open.

“It’s no problem. I’m Sacha, by the way.” The young man extended his hand, which vanished into Sage’s huge mitt as they shook. “If you don’t mind me asking…where do you get your clothes?”

Sage knew the buttons were going to go this time, and he felt it happen with a depressed acceptance, his pecs swelling to the size of his skull as they pumped out with such force that they sagged from all the muscle packed into them. When his dress shirt fixed itself once more, pushing his massive rack up to his chin, he reached up and popped open his third button, hoping the extra space would keep his shirt from popping apart again. “Um, they’re bespoke,” Sage said, running his fingers up and down between the undone buttons of his shirt, embarrassed by the flesh on display. He felt like a girl showing off her boobs, but it was a different look, his gentlemanly shirt providing a peek at the beastly mass he was carrying on his chest.

“Wow, that’s so cool,” Sacha said. “I can’t even gain a pound.”

Despite neither of them having moved, Sage’s ball belly gently pushed against Sacha, who took a step back politely.

“It’s not cool,” Sage sighed. “I don’t think I fit in normal clothes…I actually don’t even know how big I am.”

“There’s a scale in the locker room by the yoga studio, I saw!”

“A scale?” Sage’s veneers flashed in a quick smile that segued back into nervousness. “I should probably know how big I am…I keep thinking I’m going to go back to normal. I’ll go back to normal, right?”

Sacha’s eyebrows raised. He clearly had no idea what to say.

“Where’s the yoga studio?” Sage asked as a distraction from the question he knew sounded nonsensical.

“One floor down!”

“I don’t have a badge,” Sage sighed.

“You don’t need one if you do the stairs on the other side of this floor! They connect to the ninth floor without you going through any doors.”

“No shit?” Sage said, and he saw Sacha react with surprise at the profanity. “Cool, thanks man. I’ll go weigh myself. Anything’s better than doing my school project.” Sage sidestepped Sacha and stomped out of the room, leaving the confused young intern behind.

Sage turned down the hall and immediately smashed his shoulder into the wall, unaccustomed to his breadth. He looked side to side and realized he was barely clearing the hallway, the loops on his pants brushing the walls. His chest was gargantuan, and a curious prodding of his man-boobs revealed they weren’t soft at all, but solid like his gut. It was like he’d been pumped full of wet cement that then hardened him into a sculpture. His pants felt as tight as his shirt - moose knuckle bulging, ass straining the seat - and he was suddenly aware of the pressure of his calves against the inside of his pant legs. When he got to the top of the stairs, he gripped the railing tight enough to turn his knuckles white - if he was as big as he felt, a fall could perhaps actually kill him.

He took the stairs one foot at a time, moving methodically. His thighs kept knocking into each other, forcing him to swing his left around the right. When he accidentally caught a glimpse of it, it looked to him like there was a Thanksgiving turkey in his pant leg.

Sage was breathing heavily when he reached the bottom of the stairs. The physical and mental exertion of the day was getting to him. He stood and caught his breath, calmed by the soothing pink of his shirt and glittering luxury of his cufflinks and watch. He wondered how long he could be away from the group without Mrs. Palmett yelling at him, though she seemed to be in a permissive mood today.

A couple of people walked by as he was standing there, and they both looked shell-shocked by his mere presence. Sage wondered what exactly it was about him that prompted such a reaction. As he walked down the hall toward the office’s yoga studio, a young woman gawked as she passed, and had to flatten herself against the wall just to squeeze by. His “sorry” to her, intended as a murmur, came out thunderous.

The door to the yoga area was closed, with a crinkled sign posted that read “Enter quietly - class might be in session!” Sage cracked the door as softly as he could, and saw that the lights were off. He opened the door further, confirming that the room was not in use, and walked in. Or attempted to, first, before he bashed his arm and shoulder into the doorframe. It took some angling to get himself through, like when he’d helped his friend move a sofa into an apartment.

It was dark as Sage looked for the locker room area, but his noisy clomps across the wood floor woke up the lights’ motion sensor. It hadn’t dawned on Sage until just then that yoga studio walls were covered in mirrors. He tried to turn away from the reflection before he saw it - but just looked into the mirror behind him instead.

“Wh-WHAT-”

That was suddenly the only word he knew how to form. ‘What.’ He said it over and over, loudly, softly, every possible variation as he stared in confused, aroused horror at himself. He was hallucinating, or dreaming, or something…nothing could explain what he saw, which was his head on the biggest body he’d ever seen. He was the size of a parade balloon. He wasn’t exceptionally tall - six feet, or around there - but the width and density more than made up for it. Just…mass…pure, terrifying muscle mass, stuffed inside formal clothes that should have been preposterously huge, but were instead too snug. He didn’t know how many X’s were in front of the ‘L’ for his shirt size, but it looked like a shower curtain buttoned around him. The shirt elevated his muscle gut like a first-place pedestal and squeezed tightly against the perimeter of his chest, outlining every square inch of the basketball-sized tits. A belt as long as a bullwhip held up his elegant trousers, pushed to a downward angle by his belly, which was the size of the yoga balls piled in the corner of the studio.

“What…what…”

The mirrors behind him reflected his back, which resembled a pair of dragon wings folded under his shirt, the pink fabric mottling across the muscles like a cumulus cloud. His arms stuck out at angles from his body, unable to rest against his hypertrophied frame. He raised one and flexed his bicep, teenage boy curiosity getting the better of him. A volleyball-sized peak swelled inside his shirt sleeve, and he felt his French cuff strain around his wrist. He flexed his other arm - a strain shot through his torso, followed by a surge of warmth in his chest -

“OH!” Sage’s head snapped back as a mat of brown curls exploded out of his pecs, his new chest hair pouring forth with macho arrogance as he grew a pelt worthy of Hercules. He whimpered as he prodded his new fur with his fingers, watching as they disappeared into the divide of his pectorals, proudly framed by the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. His hand ran down over his belly, rubbing it - it was prodigiously hairy too, he could tell - and perversely admiring how muscular it was, like his body had run out of space to put all his muscle and stored the extra on his stomach.

“I gotta…I gotta wake up…” he groaned, spotting the locker room area in his peripheral vision and stumbling away from his reflection. His brain was trying to think up explanations for why he looked like that - like a gorilla transformed into a human businessman - but he was too in shock to muster any.

Why he was so set on weighing himself, he didn’t quite know, aside from the hope that the scale would read his normal number - 130 - proving that he’d mentally snapped and was seeing himself differently from the world. He knew the number would be slightly elevated because had his shoes on, but that couldn’t be helped.

His first attempt at stepping on the scale was met by his belly bouncing off the wall. With his foot, he dragged the scale three feet closer to the center of the room, then stepped on and looked down. Belly - that was all he saw. Just his gigantic basketball man-boobs and yoga ball belly, contained by the hardest working dress shirt on earth. No amount of stretching and craning was getting him closer to seeing the number, until he realized, of course, he should stand sideways and look down. Even so, it was difficult thanks to his giant waistline-

372 pounds, no way, that wasn’t right. He stepped off and allowed the scale to reset, then stepped back on. This time it said 374. And as he stood still, not even breathing, the number would increase every few seconds - 375, 376, 377 - as if he was still packing on mass despite not moving a muscle.

It didn’t make sense for him to be nearly 380 pounds, so Sage rejected the notion and kicked the scale away. He had no idea what to do if it was true. He didn’t know how to lose weight, he’d always been skinny. And this felt like mostly muscle - did you have to do anything to lose muscle? Did it just fall off when you didn’t use it?

He needed to get back to the group, anyway. He’d been gone too long. So he headed for the door and walked back through the yoga studio, confronted by his reflection on all sides. It was astonishing how thick he was from front to back. His ass was as showstopping as his belly. He loved the shimmer of his shirt as it worked to cover his frame, highlighting the cuts of his muscles and angles of his mass. There was something cool about the contrast of his virile chest hair peeking through the undone buttons of his pretty pink shirt…

“It’s not cool,” he scolded himself, slamming the yoga studio door behind him and heading back up the stairs. One at a time, one at a time. Don’t fall. He focused on his huge hand gripping the banister. Now that was a man’s hand. Vascular and hairy with the texture of leather. “Phwoooo,” he exhaled, patting the side of his belly as he caught his breath at the top of the stairs. He turned to head back to the meeting room, but before he could worry about remembering the way, he spotted his classmates gathered down the hall. Apparently, the group project was done. He’d missed it. Sage didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.

He thought he was quietly approaching the group, until he saw half of the heads turn his way - with his breathing and his footsteps, he made quite the entrance. No one said anything since Mrs. Palmett was talking, but he did hear a soft “hey!” and realized he’d knocked a student with his belly.

“I’m so sorry, young lady-” he started to explain, until she turned around. “Julia!”

“You ditched us!” she whispered.

“Did not. I got lost.”

“Where? It’s one hallway.”

They stood quietly, listening to Palmett ramble about god knows what. But Sage was too anxious to stay quiet. “Do you think my parents are gonna get mad at me for being so big?”

“Oh, please,” Julia answered with an eyeroll.

“I’m serious! I’m 380 pounds!” He squeezed his monstrous muscle gut. “Look at this!”

“But you’re strong, not a big fat guy.”

“Mostly, I guess. There’s definitely some fat.” Sage looked at the hulking arm primed to explode through his sleeve. Julia was right, he did look really strong. Like lift-up-a-car, pull-an-airplane strong.

“And you dress it up well,” she teased. “Mr. Fancypants Businessman.”

“Stopppp,” he grumbled. But she was right, he knew, his pants were literally fancy. And his shirt. And his shoes. His cufflinks, watch, handkerchief…all of it. Then he looked with disgust at the cloud of brown chest hair protruding from between his open buttons. He couldn’t wait to shave it off. “I wanna go home.”

“I think we’re almost done,” Julia said sympathetically.

Mrs. Palmett had apparently told them to follow her somewhere, because the students began walking as a group behind her. Sage trudged along in the back, keeping plenty of distance in case he misjudged the size of his belly again. His clothes made him walk regally: garters pulling his shirt so tight in the back that he was forced to stand up straight, with his stiff collar holding his neck up like a brace.

They group gathered in a large boardroom. As students chose their seats, Sage hung back cautiously, remembering his last incident with an office chair. When Miss Ingalls motioned for him to sit, he shook his head and patted his iron belly. Sage left his palm there and rubbed the silky fabric, his stubby fingers prodding his buttons. The feeling soothed him.

“There aren’t enough packets to go around, so please share,” Mrs. Palmett said, holding up a stack of paper. “This is a list of departments at McCutcheon. I’d like each of you to choose which one interests you the most, and write a postcard to an employee in that department. Put your name, contact info, and explain why it aligns with your passions. Miss Ingalls has kindly agreed to distribute them across the company, and I hope for some of you, it will create a new professional relationship. Perhaps you’ll even work here someday!”

Sage held back a derisive snort. That was never gonna happen. He leaned back to rest against the wall, and his scalp scraped against a pipe he hadn’t noticed jutting from the low exposed ceiling. It didn’t hurt, but it did surprise him - as did the feeling of something falling off his head, like he’d been wearing a hat he’d forgotten about. Sage stepped forward and looked around his feet as best as he could, but saw nothing on the ground.

Well, whatever. It was probably nothing, he thought, casually reaching up to scratch an itch on his forehead-

Sage froze. His throat tied itself into a knot.

There was no hair on his forehead.

He moved his hand further back, bending down so his arm could clear his chest. No hair…no hair…no hair…his palm was directly on his crown now, his deltoid smashing into the side of his face. It felt like he was touching a pane of glass. “Oh no…”

Sage could feel the color draining from his face. When he moved his hand to the back of his neck, he finally felt some hair. But it was thin and short, not thick like it was supposed to be.

He wasn’t…bald, was he? He could barely bring himself to think the word. No one had mentioned him being bald. His classmates would’ve made fun of that, for sure. Then again, no one said anything about his chest hair, and he could clearly see he had plenty of that. And plenty of chest, too. But no, there was no way he was bald…he was just feeling something weird on his head…or he’d hit his head harder than he realized and was confused…

“Sage? Would you like to participate in the project?” Mrs. Palmett asked from across the room.

“No thank you,” Sage responded without thinking, as if it was a genuine question. But Mrs. Palmett accepted his answer with no argument. So Sage stood in the back and waited for his classmates to finish up, wearily fidgeting with his collar and cuffs and planning out the rest of his day. He’d get out of the business clothes, shave his chest, look up how much a Breitling sells for…find a place in his bedroom to stash his cufflinks, he liked them and didn’t want them to get lost…

Crap. He had to pee.

Instead of asking, Sage just left. He knew he wasn’t going to be quick about it, so if Palmett wanted him to stay, she could say something when she saw him lumbering to the door. But she didn’t, so out into the hall he went, as he tried to recall where that small bathroom was.

He could see his belly peripherally as he walked, and seeing it floating at the bottom of his vision made him feel like he was playing a first-person shooter game. Those buttons had to be reinforced with steel, it was a damn miracle they weren’t bursting off.

“Excuse me, where’s the restroom?” he asked a passing employee.

The young man looked at Sage in utter reverence. “Yours is right down there, sir, on the other side of the executive boardroom!”

“Thank you,” Sage smiled, suddenly recalling how dazzling his teeth were. He flashed the veneers at other employees who moved out of the way to let him pass. That was considerate of them.

He assumed he was passing by the executive boardroom, because it was twice as big as the other meeting rooms and it looked like a spaceship. So much white, and with microphones hanging from the ceiling. Definitely the room for the most important meetings. And true to what the guy said, right next to it was a white door with a gold plate mounted on it: EXECUTIVE WASHROOM.

Sage decided they didn’t have to know he wasn’t an executive. He walked inside.

“Whoa,” his deep voice echoed back at him off the marbled walls. The bathroom was opulent. He hoped he didn’t get in trouble being in there. But he did have to go, and he’d asked for directions…

He forgot to avert his eyes when he walked past the sinks, and was attacked by his reflection. He was as big as a house, and his clothes were so tight they became more revealing than being naked, enhancing every angle of his mass. There was no missing the cuts in his muscles, or his protruding nipples, or his chest hair-

-or his baldness. Sage groaned aloud as he looked at his smooth head. He sported the Hippocratic wreath of a truly bald man, the outer rim of his scalp hugged by the last vestiges of his once lush hair. The bald dome was painfully shiny, like there was a big spotlight right on it demanding everyone’s attention. Sage grabbed a washcloth - there were no disposable towels in here, they were all fluffy washcloths, which was how he knew it was fancy - and rubbed it over his head, hoping it would wipe off some sweat. He wiped his face too. Maybe there was something in his eyes making him think he’d gone bald.

But nope, still bald. He sighed, enormous shoulders slumping, tits heaving so dramatically they almost burst another button. Even worse, now his face looked dirty, like he’d wiped off his clean skin…but only on the lower half…Sage leaned into the mirror and cautiously prodded his cheeks. He had stubble. And it was so dark…was it getting darker? Heavier? His five o’clock shadow was so aggressive it nearly counted as a beard. He could see the whole shape of one clear as day on his face, like black ink tattooed from his cheeks down to his neck. It boned him up. It was so manly.

Sage tore himself away and stomped to the big stall. He knew he couldn’t use urinals - belly was too big - so he went straight to the big toilet and lowered his pants, undoing the contraption that kept his shirt tucked in. As he sat, he unbuttoned more of his shirt and fondled his big muscle jugs, enjoying the sensitivity of his nipples and all the itchy fur around them…he stroked his stubbled jaw, big mitt rubbing back and forth across his sandpapered cheek…no one had to see how much he turned himself on. This gigantic grizzly bear of a man. He’d miss that feeling when he went back to normal, but he needed to go back to normal, he knew.

Once finished, he pulled himself up using the bar mounted on the wall, and carefully rebuckled his shirt garters before pulling his pants up. The motion pushed his belly higher, which in turn hoisted his giant tits nearly up to his chin. Sage carefully checked his buttons, zipped his fly, and fixed his collar and cuffs. He made sure his buckle was centered before he walked out of the stall, shoes clacking on the tile.

He washed his hands, noticing how blunt and thick his fingers were. The soap in this bathroom was exfoliating and smelled like orange peels, unlike the cheap stuff in the other bathroom he’d used earlier. Once he’d dried off, he reached up out of habit to check his hair, and remembered he was bald. He looked glumly at his shiny head, then furrowed his brow. His ears were a little bigger than he’d realized - probably because his hair covered them all this time. It wasn’t that they stuck out badly, but they were longer than he’d thought, especially the earlobes. His nose actually was kind of big too…not small and straight as he imagined, but broad with a swollen tip that pushed his nostrils sideways. He turned his head to the side and gasped at how far his nose projected - he’d never noticed…

Actually, was his whole head bigger? Sage stared in shock at himself. He looked so much balder, and he swore it was because his skull had swelled. But that was impossible. His features just looked wider - or bigger, or both - and now he had thick bushy eyebrows that hung slightly over his eyes, pushed there by a dominant brow that made his face look so…commanding. He snickered at the idea of ever being seen as someone imposing, and that was when he noticed his jaw was the widest part of his head, a square packed with so much sinew that when his mouth relaxed, a pair of muscular jowls bulged into view. That made him look even more imperious, his whole visage a dark, craggy tribute to all things male. Sage couldn’t remember ever looking like this. In fact, he was sure he hadn’t. He didn’t look like himself. Or anyone in his family, for that matter. And the longer he analyzed his features - thin lips, weathered skin, jutting forehead - he realized that unfamiliar face didn’t look like a boy’s, nor a young man’s. It was a face firmly in adulthood, so authoritative in its virility that Sage felt unworthy looking at it, even though it was allegedly his own.

He reached up and poked at his chin, an unfamiliar brick of muscle and bone, covered in gritty stubble. “What happened to me,” he grunted, prodding his cheeks. “That’s not…me…” He looked like a bulldog. No…he looked like a bull. A towering, barrel-chested, fearsome bull of a man.

A man.

It was so weird to think of himself as a man. And yet, if he’d asked an artist to draw a depiction of every manly facial feature, whatever they composed still wouldn’t be as masculine as the face looking back at him. It was a great face. It just wasn’t his face, and it was too old. A middle-aged man’s face, not a teenager’s. There was even gray in what was left of his hair. He looked older than his dad. And more powerful, too - much more powerful. Actually, older and more powerful than any dad he knew.

Sage left the bathroom with a chubby in his pants, emphasizing the round fatness of his bull balls. The points of his collar bounced as he strutted back to his classmates, wondering if they’d even recognize him anymore. It was so strange to consider. He just wanted the day to end.

He got to the room, but it was empty save for a custodian already straightening the chairs and cleaning the whiteboard. “They seemed to be leaving,” the lady said.

“Shit!” Sage walked as fast as he could down the hall, collar bouncing more, shoes slamming into the ground. He could hear the elevator dings. He almost yelled something, but didn’t want to disrupt the peace of the office.

To his great relief, there was still a group of ten students waiting when he got to the elevators. Of course, he remembered, they’d had to do two trips coming up. He stood and wordlessly waited with his group, and when the next car finally came, he walked on first.

No one followed.

Sage realized with him in the elevator, there was barely space for anyone else. “I think we can fit…one or two…” he grumbled, embarrassed, and two of the smallest girls in his class squeezed on before the doors shut. “Sorry,” he apologized to them. “I forgot I take up so much room now.”

Both girls just blushed and smiled, and it dawned on him there was no good response to a statement like he’d just made. Anything they said would sound like a crack about his size, so wisely, the girls stayed silent and looked as polite as they could. They scurried back to the group wordlessly upon arrival on the ground floor, while Sage’s footsteps clacked boisterously through the lobby, turning heads all the way to the bus.

Sage patiently waited to board the bus, twirling his cufflinks in their holes as he stood. But when he got to the front, letting all the other students board first, it was embarrassingly clear that he was not going to fit through the door. His shoulders, belly and waistline all wedged up to block his way.

He looked up at Mrs. Palmett, who stood onboard the bus next to the driver. She hadn’t noticed his attempt to enter. “Thank you for walking us down!” she said.

“I want to go back to school,” Sage thundered impatiently, using the depth of his voice to its full effect.

“Oh, I know that feeling. But we all have to grow up eventually!” She waved as the door closed. “You have a nice day.”

The bus doors shut and the bus, already running, pulled away from the curb. “Hey!” Sage yelled. “HEY!” But his shouts went unanswered, and the bus drove away.

Stupefied, Sage watched it vanish into the distance. It took a few moments for the situation to fully sink in. Once it did, he felt his jaw lock and his stomach flip. They’d…left him. He couldn’t believe it.

His first instinct was to reach for his phone, which he realized he didn’t have. Maybe it was in his sweatpants, but were those still around? Or if they’d changed, why wasn’t his phone in his trousers…this was all so confusing. But regardless, his phone had to be back in the office, so it was - in a weird way - a good thing that he’d been left. Sage turned and walked back to the building, feeling stares of shock aimed his way. A small boy walking by went “whooooaaaaa.”

Worry set in when he realized he was going to be asked to scan in with a badge he didn’t have, but before he could be troubled with that, he noticed security was being worked by the same guard as before - that ruddy old ball of muscle who didn’t seem nearly as big anymore.

“Glad you found your shirt!” he said to Sage.

“My shirt?” Sage rubbed his palm over the silky pink fabric stretched across his mass.

“I saw it this morning - you’d left it on the conveyor. Some kid took it.”

“No, that was…” Sage started to say, but he trailed off, as his hand moved up to itch the chest hair between his undone buttons. “I wish I was a kid,” he mumbled.

“But then that shirt wouldn’t fit you, and it’s the nicest shirt I’ve ever seen,” the guard chuckled.

“That’s true,” Sage replied, noticing how much deeper his voice was than the guard’s. “Do you ever miss being young, man?”

The guard thought for a minute. “Not really. Maybe that sense of having the world at your feet, I miss. But I’m the biggest I’ve ever been, I got money and a good family and I can do whatever I want. Not to say I wouldn’t mind a do-over, but really, I wouldn’t change much. I’m sure you wouldn’t either! Every guy in this building wants to be like you.”

Sage blushed under his five o’clock shadow. “Really?”

“No need to be modest. It isn’t your strong suit anyway,” the guard teased, motioning to Sage’s cleavage. Then he swung a side gate open and motioned for Sage to go through. “I’m taking up your time, so you have a good day, sir.”

“Thanks,” Sage said, taking a step. “Appreciate the, er, special treatment.”

“Well, you don’t fit through the metal detector anyway,” the guard laughed. “Not with those shoulders.”

“Ah, right,” Sage chuckled, unsure if he should be proud or embarrassed. He’d never imagined that a grown version of himself would be so massive he would require concessions just to get around. It sure would make school different if he never shrank back down. Or went back to his normal age. Nothing made sense anymore, he thought as he got back on the elevator, but at least he looked incredible. His chest looked even bigger now. The button at the base of his pecs was wedged between them and his blimp belly. He had the perfect amount of chest hair. His clothes were gorgeous - now that he was away from his schoolmates, he could admit to himself that he loved dressing like this.

The best part was that he was handsome, brutishly so. His features were an exaggerated caricature of masculinity - the kind of features that made being bald look good. The kind of features that made him like being a man.

“Fuck,” he grunted.

Sage knew something was wrong. He knew something very strange was happening. But he was having trouble forcing himself to care. He could feel manly power radiating from his body, blasting off him in an invisible cloud, ready to intoxicate anyone he encountered. The gentle pink hue of his shirt and dandy nature of his formalwear did nothing to subdue his manliness.

Maybe he wouldn’t try to change back just yet. Maybe he’d stay a man for a few more days, just to enjoy it. He didn’t know how to revert himself yet anyway, it might take a while just to figure that out…

Getting off the elevator reminded him of his mission. Phone, that was what he needed to find, because he’d been left by his stupid school-

“You got flowers!” a passing woman said to Sage. She turned and walked backwards down the hall as she kept speaking. “A delivery guy was just here - I told him to put them in your office.”

“Flowers?” Sage said, poking his finger between his pecs. “For me?”

“Probably for your anniversary!” She walked off.

“My office?” Sage mumbled to himself, eyes tracing the halls. He didn’t have an office, but the person she thought he was did. Maybe his doppelganger was nearby, and they could figure the confusion out - exchange their shirts, if that was the problem…

He lumbered around the perimeter of the office, trying to look like he knew where he was going. If anyone asked him why he was there, he wasn’t going to have an answer, so he avoided eye contact - which was hard, because he had to move to allow anyone to pass him. He walked past the meeting rooms his schoolmates did their projects in, including the executive boardroom. Right next to it, he encountered a guy in a black polo shirt and black jeans who looked as lost as Sage felt. Sage tried to ignore him, but the man spoke up. “Are you Mr. Dufort?”

Sage had no idea what to say, because he didn’t want to give away his identity as a non-employee, so he just stammered. “I…er, uh-”

“I just have a delivery for him, for his anniversary.”

“Oh!” Sage remembered what the woman in the hall said as she walked away. “Yes, I think it’s for my anniversary…”

The guy took off his insulated backpack and produced a bottle of champagne from it. “Then this is for you!”

Sage grinned. “What a nice surprise,” he said, signing an illegible scribble on the delivery form. “Oh, there’s a note on it.” He looked at the printed sticker placed over the label: “To S.D., Congratulations on your 25 years. You are an inspiration. Best wishes, your friends at Kellerman & Sons.”

The delivery man walked away as Sage inspected the note. 25 years? Did people think it was his 25th birthday? Then why would they be calling it an anniversary…

Yards away, an office door was propped open, and Sage saw a massive bouquet on the desk inside. Maybe those were the flowers the lady was talking about. He walked over and, once he made sure the office was empty, across the carpet. He set the champagne on the desk and looked at the card set in the bouquet. “SID - 25 years! Incredible!” was all it said. Next to the flowers was a stack of four newspapers, all from today, the top one folded back to a circled black-and-white paragraph in the business section.

Sidney I. Dufort, 58, renewed his contract as Chief Operating Officer at McCutcheon Insurance, celebrating his 25th year with the company.

Chief Operating Officer? He was being confused with a 58-year-old man who’d worked at this boring-ass company for a quarter of a century. But curiosity got the better of him, and he sat down in the office’s chair, which he noticed was blessedly wide enough for his bulk. The desk’s keyboard was on a shelf that folded up over Sage’s belly like a TV tray, and he fired up Google to type in: “Sidney Dufort McCutcheon salary.”

The third result mentioned money specifically, so Sage clicked on it, and there it was - the list of all the McCutcheon executives and their salaries as reported to…the government, or whoever you had to report that stuff to. The second line listed Sidney Irwin Dufort, Chief Operating Officer, and a compensation package of 1.7 million dollars per year, plus bonuses.

“My god,” Sage chuckled, his shaking belly making the keyboard jump. “He’s rich.” He looked at his fingers resting on the keys, flanked by the French cuffs as broad as his hands. The monogram on his cuffs was clear as day: S.I.D. Sidney Irwin Dufort, but also Sage Indiana Daniels. What a strange, cool coincidence. No wonder he was fooling everyone today. “Sidney,” Sage said, feeling the name roll around his mouth like a candy. “What a dorky name.” He had to admit there was a dignity to it, a weight that ‘Sage’ didn’t have. It fit the new body, the physique of the 58-year-old beast in the 58-sized trousers.

That new body breathed loudly - hard, ragged blasts, like a rhinoceros - and Sage realized how bad it would look if someone walked by and saw him hiding in this office, reading Sidney’s computer with an erection in his trousers. He pushed himself out of his chair and rolled to his feet, nearly toppling from his center of gravity. He was so horny, and his nuts bouncing as he walked didn’t help matters. He shut the office door and leaned against it, grinning when he noticed the damp stripes underlining his chest - sweat stains from where his shirt got tucked under his huge tits. So, to prevent their spread, he opened his next two buttons, unleashing his monstrous pecs and the top of his hairy belly. His nipples popped free of his shirt, giant and throbbing and pink.

He made a noise looking at them that he’d never heard himself make before, a low growl of pure arousal. It sounded like a lion about to devour its prey. He’d never considered that any other part of his body could bring him pleasure other than his dick, which like any teenaged boy he was always pounding away at. But this body was an orgy of self-gratification. Anything about it could make him cum. His hairy chest, his jaw, his shoulders, his belly, his ass, his back about to tear through his shirt…and his nipples, which drew a long shudder of ecstasy out of him as he thumbed their sensitive heads. Being a man was intoxicating, and being this man was an addiction. Why had he been resisting it, he wondered…boys were meant to become men, and he’d become the most glorious man of all.

Staying this way felt as impossible as changing back did. He didn’t know how to live Sidney Dufort’s life. He wasn’t smart enough to be an insurance executive. But Sidney Dufort’s body…he knew what to do with that. Worship it. Celebrate it. Fondle the pecs and rub the belly. No one from school had to know how much he turned himself on. Every movement, every choice was a celebration of his own male beauty and power. Sage moaned happily, stumbling over to the fortified desk and smashing his muscle gut on top of it, furiously humping his crotch against the edge. He threw his head back and felt another button pull open over his stomach, which made him groan louder-

“I don’t wanna change back!” he heard himself say, and it came as a shock, but it was correct - he didn’t want to. After an entire day of protestations, it turned out he longed to be a businessman after all. He wanted to have money, wear beautiful clothes, and throw his astonishing weight around. He wanted to smoke cigars, eat steak, and drive luxury cars. “I don’t want to be a kid anymore,” he grunted, crushing his pelvis harder against the desk. “I want to be a man!”

He re-angled himself to look at his gargantuan body in the office mirror, pecs heaving and belly shaking as the desk rocked under his mass. “I am becoming Sidney Dufort!” he announced to his reflection with a broad grin. “I’m going to be…hhrrgghh…an executive!”

Fuck going to school. Fuck being told what to do. The unlimited possibilities overwhelmed Sage. He’d have his own house! He could drink, he could fuck - he could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, because he was the boss. Precum soaked his underwear as the new scent of his daily cologne bloomed out from his chest, musky and manly. He saw himself as he’d be at the end of a long day of running a business: dress shirt unbuttoned, five o’clock shadow in full bloom, drink in hand, cigar at the ready… “Daddy’s home…”

It felt funny to think of himself as a Daddy, but he was one, no question. He wasn’t young anymore, he was firmly middle-aged and approaching retirement. “Daddy’s home,” he grunted again, more committed. “Daddy is becoming Sidney Dufort…”

Insurance - he’d have to develop an interest in insurance if he was going to be an insurance executive. But for 1.7 million dollars a year, he’d figure it out. And as a 58-year-old man, he only needed to work a few more years anyway. Sage felt confident he could swing it. In fact, the more he thought about it, the smarter he felt. Smart and mature…a seasoned executive… “Sidney is the boss…I’m the boss!” He humped faster, raising his hands into the air to stare at his cufflinks. His fists clenched in triumph. He grit his teeth. “I am no longer Sage Daniels…Sage has become Sidney…I’m…hrrrngh…I’M…Sidney…IRWIN…DUFORT!”

The executive bull unleashed a triumphant roar as he exploded - white cum flowed out of his underwear and down his thighs, though the lining of his trousers kept it from showing through. The exhaustion was just as instant, and he used his belly to prop him up on his desk for a few moments as he caught his breath. The cool stickiness of his spunk was a balm against his legs, and made him grin devilishly.

He heaved himself toward the mirror and used the reflection to tidy himself up: a precise shirt tuck, an adjustment of his belt, a fixing of his cuffs. He buttoned half his shirt and made sure the amount of chest on view was to his liking. Then he stood back and admired the view, the telltale flush in his cheeks the only sign of his recent orgasm.

“Sidney Dufort,” he said aloud, thrusting his hand forward as if greeting a business partner. His cufflink caught the sunlight and cast a gleam across his office. After practicing his professional smile, he put his hands in his pockets and stood tall, straining the buttons over his belly.

“What a strange day,” he said as he ambled back to his desk. He was glad it was over. Despite his passion for his job, it was also tiring and stressful. He worked long hours and held himself responsible for the welfare of hundreds of people. But there was something else in the back of his mind too, something aside from the daily stresses. While he remembered coming into this office every day for decades, his physical size growing in harmony with his title and salary…he also knew, somehow, that it was new to him. That he had been younger far more recently than any other 58-year-old man. He recalled that young face in the mirror, staring wide-eyed as it grew and hardened into his face.

That displacement was a bizarre sensation, and yet it comforted Sidney. He chose this path, and it was where he was meant to be. Being a skilled, savvy executive was his calling. He wasn’t meant to be that timid sprout he recalled through the haze of his memory. But he celebrated that young man all the same, as he was the reason for all of Sidney’s success, the foundation on which the spectacular man was built.

“I need a cigar,” he chuckled to himself, shutting his computer down for the day. A cigar, a steak, and a good orgasm. Those always made him feel like himself again.

As he stomped down the hall to leave, he stopped in the kitchen for a quick glass of water. A small young man in a shirt and tie was in there, savoring his coffee. He straightened up, eyes widening as Sidney walked in.

“At ease, soldier,” Sidney smirked, leaning sideways against the counter so his belly didn’t block him from getting water. “We’ve met before, I think?”

“Yes sir. My name’s Sacha, I’m an intern. We met earlier.”

“I’m Sidney Dufort,” Sidney said.

“I know, sir.” Sacha’s wiry energy made Sidney smile. He remembered when he’d been that…caffeinated. “I’d be a bad intern if I didn’t ask…any secrets of your success you can share?”

Sidney took a sip of water and thought for a second. “Work hard, be friendly, and wear a dress shirt every day.”

“Like this one?” Sacha raised his arm to bring attention to his Oxford shirt.

“No, that is a button-down. And they’re called button-downs because the collar buttons down. Feel this.” Sidney held out his arm, and the intern fingered a small square of the fabric. “This is a dress shirt.”

“Wow,” Sacha said. “It feels expensive.”

“It was. You’ll get there.” Sidney tossed his cup away and smiled. “Put on a dress shirt, kid. It’ll change your life.”

#reality change #age progression #muscle growth tf #muscle bear #belly #dress shirt #weight gain #mental change #balding #sartorial

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bear-and-gainer-story-archive · 7 months

Text

I Was 27 Pt. 1

I was quite a nice sight for anyone who likes boyish looking young men.. 27 years old, handsome, blonde hair, green eyes, great skin, 175 pounds, and a winning smile. I had graduated from college when I was 23.

Though job prospects were plentifull, I settled into something boring. I worked as a financial consultant for alot of well-to-do clients. I was not a gym bunny by any means, but I kept a very svelt body. Working out 3 times a week kept me feeling and looking good. Since I was 13, I knew that I was gay.. That didn't settle well with me since I was raised as a good Catholic boy in a very small town, so I kept my sexual desires to myself. One day at work, I was bored and ready to go home, when my boss walked into my office and announced that I had a new client that needed to invest right away.

"Sure," I said, wanting to hit him, "no problem at all." I stood up from my chair to do the respectable hand-shaking "hello-what-can-I-help-you-with," when an older gentleman walked through the office door. He was about 65 years old, very dark brown eyes, strong physique, though he had an obvious hefty gut. He had a thick, full beard, which had retained a nice black mustache, but became grey outside of that. His eyebrows were still very dark, and I saw a remarkable resemblance to Sean Connery, though this man was definitely heavier. He had a double chin, and looked very much like those "portly" gentlemen you see hosting something artsy on BBC.

His face was still very handsome, though all signs of youth were gone, except for the remaining black hairs in his mustache and eyebrows.. He had what I always called a "horse shoe" head of hair, which is no hair at all on top, much like Patrick Stewart, the "Star Trek guy," as I always called him.

"Hello, Mr. Young, my name is Mr. John Danvers. I heard that you were a great consultant with an eye for making investments pay off. I'm here to make my investment do just that," he said, as he shook my hand.

"Nice to meet you, Sir. Please sit down," I responded. He sat down with a slight grunt as he sat his 300 pound body down on the chair before him. Mr. Danvers had the obvious appearance and demeanor of a very wealthy man. He lit up his pipe, which looked very natural on him, and began to smoke as if he'd been smoking pipes for the better part of his life. "I hope my smoking doesn't bother you, Mr. Young. I'm afraid I've been quite attached to it since I was a young man."

"Not at all," I said, "but the office is a smoke-free environment. However, I won't say a word. What can I assist you with specifically, Mr. Danvers?"

He looked at me as if he were sizing me up and down, like he was inspecting me. There was a long, uncomfortable pause, and he finally spoke. "I would like for you to come to my house tomorrow night and go over a few things together. I would like to invest both my money, and my years. I know that I'll be happy with what becomes of the two of us. In fact, I guarantee I will. You, however, might not expect just how interesting this might become."

What in the hell was he talking about? I had no idea, but I agreed to meet him. "Very good, Mr. Young, I'll send my car to pick you up here when you end your day. Also, take my advice, go and work out, enjoy your night. If I'm correct, you will never have the same existance again."

I was completely curious and lost with what this man said. Mr. Danvers handed me $1,000 dollars in cash and advised me that it was an advance, and said he was very confident in my abilities. At first I tried to refuse the offering, but he insisted that I take it, and insisted that I use the money to go out and have one hell of a great time. "Take that money and go wild with it. Enjoy the spending, and, most of all, enjoy your youth. I am very confident that you're going to become a very wealthy and changed man very soon, and you can leave this hum-drum office once and for all. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

I smiled politely, and agreed to use the money the way he suggested it. He might have seemed a bit odd to me, but I could tell that this man was exremely sharp and I somehow felt that he was serious about my becoming rich. "Very well then, Mr. Young," he concluded, "I'll have my car pick you up tomorrow at 7 pm sharp. I told your boss that I would be consulting with you all day tomorrow, and he agreed to let you work away from your office tomorrow so you can have a full and wonderful day. We don't have to tell him that the next 24 hours are just for you, right, young man?"

I smiled and realized that since today was Thursday, that meant I would have the first 3-day weekend in a very, very long time. I left for the gym, then had the best 24 hours I could ever remember having. I ate at the best restaurant I could find, went out dancing, which is unlike me since I work so much, then went on a shopping spree the next day. Man, I had an awesome day! When 7 pm was approaching, I got ready for Mr. Danver's car to pick me up. I put on my new clothes after a refreshing shower, and felt better and more alive than I ever had. There was an amazing sense of anticipation welling up inside of me at the thought of what great things Mr. Danvers had in mind that would be so prosperous for me. After all, people come to me to make themselves richer with the vast wealth they already have.

The car arrived, and the driver greeted me at the door. I got into the limmosine and off we went. After a very scenic drive, I saw Mr. Danver's mansion for the first time. "Wow!" I could not help but blurt that out loud. The driver smiled suspiciously, as if he knew something that I did not. That mansion was one of the most incredible things my eyes had ever beheld. I will spare you all of the descriptive stuff, because it was so overwhelming, I'd never do it justice by writing it down. Just visualize a very large, secluded, and beautiful mansion with the most fabulous landscape you've seen in your life. Upon entering, I was struck by the sight of the marble floors, gorgeous antiques everywhere, and a huge library, which is where the driver said that Mr. Danvers was waiting for me.

As I entered, I noticed that my new client was sitting in a large leather chair, peacefully smoking his pipe, and reading a book. He had on a pair of reading glasses, and I couldn't help but admire the sight of him. He was up in age, heavy-set, but he was the picture of a man so relaxed, content, and happy. "Good evening, Mr. Danvers. This place of yours is beyond magnificent. I have to say that I can't wait to colaberate with you on your idea, whatever it is."

"Well hello, there, young man," he said as he puffed on his pipe and smiled warmly. "Please make yourself comfortable. Clarence, my butler, is bringing us some brandy and a few things to eat as we discuss business and pleasure. Take a seat, my boy."

Pleasure? Had he said pleasure? 'Oh, no,' I thought. Is this a sex meeting? I'm not sure that I could have sex with this man, even though he is, and probably always has been, a very handsome man. I tried to put my weird thoughts out of my head, when Mr. Danvers brought me back to reality. "Mr Young.........," he began, but I interrupted. "Please just call me Aaron. It may be in a stuffy and formal kind of business, Mr. Danvers, but I'm still just a guy."

"Very well, my boy, then you can call me Edward. I may be a rich and rather, ahem, mature, but I'm just a man." We both smiled at each other as if there wasn't such a vast differance between the two of us. I felt right at home. Clarence had brought us a rather large cart with goblets, silver food containers, and in a very elegant way. It looked like there must have been enough food and drink on that cart for 6 people, not two men.

Mr. Danvers poured us both a glass of brandy and raised his drink to the air.. "A toast, my fine young friend." I lifted my glass to his. "To youth," he paused, "and to maturity. May the two cross over the other and make amazing things happen." I can't explain to you how much of a natural bond I felt towards this man, but I knew it was there. I felt comfortable, at home, and, above all, so relaxed! "Aaron, my boy, this night is going to see the end of all of your current worries and concerns both financially, and in all things obligatory. If all goes the way I feel that it will, you will be respected, admired, and never have a need to struggle to earn the money to travel the world in style. You'll never have to attend meetings, answer to anyone but yourself, and you will never again feel that you have to go to the gym and torture yourself to keep up appearances with the superficial gay crowd. I've done some checking on you, Aaron, and I know that you're a very high quality young man. You've worked hard, been responsible, and you have a very level head, a truly nice way to see the world through the eyes of a young man who has more going for him then most many years older than yourself. You're very attractive and yet, still so humble. I have selected you to get what you always dreamed of having."

I could not believe what I was hearing. He filled another pipe, lit it with such serenity, and sat closer to me. Still, I was wondering if he were going to make a pass at me. For some reason, I stopped thinking about our age differance, and thought more about the fact that not only was I incredibly relaxed, but I could not help but notice how much the years had been good to this man. He was such an attractive older man! His deep and commanding, yet gentle voice was almost intoxicating. Curiosity got the better of me and I felt my inhibitions slipping quickly. I had to ask him the first question that popped into my mind. "Mr., uh, Edward, why and how did you select me for these things that you're saying? I've never met you, and you already seem to know alot about me. Are you wanting me to.........."

I stopped myself before I asked him about the sex thing. "Am I just trying to sleep with you, Aaron? Is that what you wanted to know? Well, then, the answer is no. I find you very beautiful to look at, but I'm interested in your body in a way that little to do with a motive to just have sex with you. I want you to relax and stop thinking about that, and then we can proceed without such incorrect notions. To answer why I selected you, well, you look like the kind of young man I've wanted to be for a long time now. I feel a connection with you. Why do I know so much about you? The answer is simple. You helped a very good friend of mine three months ago. Perhaps you remember a certain Mr. Johnathon Briggs? He was one of my best friends." I gulped, not because I remembered the man of which he spoke, but because he said was a good friend.

"Your boss, Aaron, is a crooked man. He has treated his employees unfairly, embezzled money from unsuspecting people, and has gotten away with it......so far. You were assisting my good friend on some very promising monetary ventures when you realized that there was a problem. Your boss shirked your concerns off, and removed you from the client's account. You then went behind your boss's back and called Mr. Briggs and told him to pull his money out of your firm. You knew that someone was taking money from several people's accounts, and you knew that even though it looked good, it was completely bogus.

You, Aaron my boy, saved my friend from going penniless. He told me all about it. He told me about how young, handsome, and honest you are. Sadly, Mr. Briggs passed away three weeks ago. He died in his sleep, and left the world peacefully. Because of you, his money remained unscathed by your scheming boss, and that money is building two hospitals for poor and underprivaledged families, and is providing for his remaining relatives for the rest of their lives. That would never have been possible had it not been for you."

I was stunned. "It's amazing how such a small effort, your honest soul, and your clever mind can make such a huge differance, isn't it? You have a mind way beyond your years, Aaron. I can help wisdom and age meet, and you will also be rewarded." Still, I didn't understand where he was going with all of this. He suddenly stood up, looked me in the eye and announced that we were going out for a cocktail. He said that he wanted to change into something more casual, as he was wearing a formal suit that looked as if he were going to meet the Queen of England.

When he returned, he was wearing a nice three piece suit. It was hardly what I would consider more comfortable, but it was more casual than what he had been wearing. As we got into the limmousine, he instructed me, "Aaron, we're going to a very cozy gay bar that is much differant then the ones you're used to. The crowd is generally older, and they are all very real and descent people. I think you'll like it. If anyone asks, just tell them that I'm your Grandfather, OK?" I chuckled a bit, then agreed. "Besides, Aaron, being old enough to be your Grandfather isn't such a bad thing, is it?" "Of course not," I responded. He winked at me, and said, with a warm and mischievious grin, "Good. You'll be like me before you know it. I want you to think of my age as something you could enjoy."

When he said those things, I still had no idea of where he was coming from. I took them in stride. We arrived at the bar. It was what can only be described as Glitzy. We went inside, and I noticed how well everyone was dressed. Even though I was wearing my brand new clothes, I paled next to the upscale clientelle that filled this bar. We sat down and ordered a brandy, and got comfortable. I noticed that across the room, the most beautiful man I'd seen in my life was sitting alone. He looked our way several times while Edward and I talked about my life. He seemed to want to know everything about me. I answered all of the questions as they came, but was so distracted by this hot man who still kept looking in our direction.

Edward excused himself and I sat In my seat silently, waiting for his return. A minute passed and someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was the hot guy from accross the bar! I tried to gain composure when he spoke to me. "Excuse me, but I just wanted to introduce myself. I'm Jim." I thought I'd pass out. He was so incredible. He must have been about 5'9, dark hair, large brown eyes, and of medium build. He looked to be about my age. I invited him to sit down with us. "I could not help but notice the two of you. Is that man you're with your lover?"

I gulped my brandy extra hard. "No, he's my Grandfather." His face lit up as he smiled broadly. "Is your Grandfather gay? I mean, is he, does he have a boyfriend, or a wife, or something?" "No," I said. "Why do you ask?" He looked at me with such enthusiasm. "Well, I think he's HOT! I've always liked older men, I hope I'm not offending you." I assured him that I was not offended, but I was very surprised to see such a young guy interested in a man Edward's age.

I WAS 27 (part 2)

Edward returned from the bar and noticed that we had a new guest seated with us. I introduced the 2 men, and I could tell that Jim was very attracted to Edward. "I love the aroma of your pipe. I've always found pipesmoking men very hot."

Edward smiled and winked at Jim, and we all conversed politely for the next hour. "I plan on coming back to this bar a week from tonight if you would like to meet me here and join me," Edward said to Jim. The much younger man beamed a brilliant white smile back at Edward, and we said goodnight to Jim and left to return to Edward's mansion.

We went back to the library and got another brandy, as Edward sat for a few minutes smoking his pipe and silently looking at me, as if he were contemplating something very deep in his head. I drank some more of my brandy, and began to feel very nice. I felt so happy and relaxed, it was like a small dose of euphoria.

'I must have had more brandy than I should have,' I thought to myself. I broke the silence. "That guy Jim seemed to really like you. Were you interested in him?" Edward smiled. "He was a nice young man. What did YOU think about him?" "I thought he was very attractive. But he was too busy admiring you to give me much attention," I said.

"Aaron, you'd be surprised how many beautiful young men are attracted exclusively to men my age. Some are into what they call the 'daddy/boy' thing, others like older men just because they find other young men too immature, there are many, many diverse reasons as to why that is."

"So, Mr. Dan...sorry, Edward, what is the idea you wanted us to discuss? I'm really curious." He got up from his chair and went to get a different pipe from his vast pipe cabinet, and sat back down. Sure, let me get this pipe ready first, then I'll tell you all about it." He reached for his tobacco. "It's important to fill the tobacco just right for a pleasurable smoke. first you fill it, then gently pack it. Then you fill it loosely again and you pack it down again to where the tobacco springs back like a sponge when you press down on it."

He reached for his lighter. I was a bit perplexed as to why he seemed to be almost giving me a lesson on how to fill and light a pipe, but I really liked this man. If he wanted to take his time enjoying our evening, then great. Edward then began to instruct me on how to light and puff on a pipe. I politely listened to him. He sat back in his chair and took a nice sip of brandy.

"Aaron, what would you think if I offered you the opportunity to own this mansion, and half of my money?"

I choked on my brandy and almost spit it on the carpet. "Excuse me? I don't think I heard you right." "Yes, Aaron, I would like to make a personal arrangement with you, and you would get my mansion, and half of my full assets. I'm worth about seven hundred and fifty-million dollars. That doesn't include my mansion. It and all of the treasures contained here are worth more than one hundred million dollars. I'm not telling you this to try to impress you. I'm honestly saying that by tomorrow morning, Our deal can be sealed and done forever."

I could not believe my ears. My heart began pounding and I started to sweat when I saw that the expression on his face was absolutely serious. He grinned at me and I noticed how he was sweating a little himself. I noticed that the top of his bald head had became even more shiny than before. Edward stroked his thick beard as he looked at me and seemed to be contemplating again.

"I don't understand," I broke the silence again, "what you're saying sounds amazing, and you look serious, but what deal are you talking about? What would I have to do? Is there a hidden camera somewhere?"

Edward laughed heartily at my questions. "No, my boy, there aren't any cameras. I'll get to what I want, but first, let me ask YOU a few more questions. I'm almost as nervous as you are, Aaron. This is a big decision, and once we make it, there's no going back."

I was all ears. "My young friend, what do you think of an older man like myself? I mean, do you pity a man my age and consider him to be 'past it,' so to speak?" "Not at all. I think older men are lucky. They don't have to work, they do what they want, and I've always respected them. I look at you, and I could only hope to look like you when I'm your age. You look healthy, and I think you resemble Sean Connery, my idle. He's five years older than you, and he's still one of the sexiest men around." I was still wondering where this was going.

"I'm glad you think that, Aaron. Tell me, would it bother you if you were as big as I am? I mean, if you were told that part of your wealth came from it?"

What a weird question. I stared at him and looked at his rather large gut and pondered. Finally, I asked, "Do you mean would it bother me being heavy like you if I knew that being bigger would be the reason I was wealthy?" He nodded. "That would be part of it. Let me just come out with it.. You look very confused." I was very ready for him to make this all clearer. "My boy, I want to trade places with you. I would like give you half of everything I own, if you'll agree to swap with me. You would stay here and live your life of luxury, and I would go out and travel the world in the manner I've wanted to for many years."

I was stunned by what I was hearing. I poured another brandy. A BIG glass of brandy. He continued, "On my computer over there, all I have to do is click a button, and your new bank account will be set up. I wouldn't have to change the house deed. That wouldn't need changing, it would just be yours. It's really that simple. All you have to do is agree, and also agree to a few exchanges we would have to make tonight to seal the deal and let the magic begin."

Swap with me? Trade places with me? I really didn't think Mr. Danvers could be crazy, but he sure wasn't making a lot of sense. His series of questions were blowing my mind. "Sure, Edward, if I could live like you do, of course I'd do it. Why not?" I really wasn't sure if I was humoring the man, or if I was talking from one too many glasses of brandy. Still, I really was serious about the house and the money, but this is reality. I'd never take advantage of an older man with strange notions. I liked Edward. "I couldn't take half of everything and your mansion for just agreeing to swap places with you, Edward. What would I do to deserve this?"

Edward began to laugh a little, as he rubbed his big belly. "My boy, you would definitely deserve it. Your life would be radically different. You wouldn't be the Aaron you know, you'd be like me, but this would be your home. What do you say, young man? Could you handle being me?"

I thought about what he was saying, and, after I chuckled a bit, I answered, "You got a deal, Edward, buddy. Let's toast to it." Edward was beaming and he raised his glass to mine, the ever-present pipe clenched in his teeth. He gave me a great tour of his mansion and told me a lot about the place. It was almost midnight, and he hurried us back to the library. He grabbed another pipe and opened a cabinet. There was a safe in there, and he was dialing it and then digging in it.

He pulled out a purple velvet box and sat in his chair again, only a small lamp table between us. He opened the box and revealed the vials of clear, green liquid that were inside. "We have to drink this together and say a special toast at the same time. Are you ready for that, young man?" It's not more alcohol, is it? I don't think I could handle it."

Edward chuckled. "No, Aaron, this stuff is quite different, although I can't even to begin to guess what's in it, but it cost me an exorbitant amount of money. I've been waiting for someone exactly like you to share it with." He removed the vials and poured the contents into two silver goblets. He puffed on his pipe as he stood staring at me for a moment, then he smiled again. "When we hold the goblets in the air, say, "Kaprophka Trans doheeshka." I laughed at those words, saying that I'd had too much drink to be able to say my ABC's, but he said we could practice a bit.

It was twenty minutes before midnight, and I finally got it right. "Good then, let us now toast." He raised his glass above him and I did the same. We said the words in unisone. Kaprophka Trans Doheeshka!" We clicked our goblets together and drank the liquid. It was unbelievably delicious. It was warm and tingly all the way down my throat. Not like alcohol, but much more nice. I could tell that Edward liked it, too, because he was smiling just like me. I felt the liquid hit my stomach, then I felt it go down even lower! The sensation continued down passed my belly button, then to my groin area. Suddenly, and quite beyond all control and reason, my cock swelled to a full erection that was throbbing to get out of my pants. The erection seemed as if it took only 5 seconds to get that hard, but there it was. I then found myself uncontrollably aroused. I had never felt more horny in my entire life! This all happened in a matter of seconds!

I looked at Edward and noticed he was supporting himself on the mantle of the fireplace. He let out a quiet, but very deep baritone moan. I looked down at the man's pants, and immediately noticed that he had the same 'problem' that I did. He then opened his eyes and stood straight up. He looked at me with a very strong look of lust. I couldn't help it, but I was full of the same lust.

What in the hell was happening? What did we just drink? These questions fled my thoughts just as quickly as they had come, and all I could think about was getting off. Edward and I were both breathing very heavily. "There's one more thing we must do to seal this. We have to give each other a sacred part of ourselves."

Man, I was hot! "What do we do?" I asked as I looked at the amazing bulge in his pants. "Come here, Boy. Lay down on the couch and take off those clothes. Hurry. Do it now, boy, and do everything I tell you to." I complied immediately. I found myself on the couch without a stitch of clothing on. Edward kneeled down next to the couch and started sucking my hard cock. Oh, man, it felt so good. He sucked my cock expertly, as I closed my eyes and enjoyed the moment. The cum was welling up from my balls, and I felt them pull tight up against the base of my shaft. It was time to cum. "I'm cumming!" I said very loudly. I shot spurt after powerful spurt of cum into him. He didn't let up, so I could tell he was swallowing every drop of my juice. I was still cumming! It was the longest and most volcanic experience of my life. Finally, after what seemed like forever, I stopped shooting into his mouth.

I lay back panting, but found that even though I had just shot my load, I was still just as aroused as I was before. Maybe even more. "Get on the floor and lay over the couch with your ass facing me. Bury your face in the couch while I bury my cock into your hole." His voice was so deep and so powerful, I found myself complying with his every word. I quickly assumed the position. I could hear Edward removing his clothes. "I'm naked now, boy. Now I'm gonna give you what you want. Oh yeah, you're gonna love this, boy."

He sounded so different. He sounded like an extremely horny and controlling man. I felt his very large cockhead press against my hole. Then the most painful sting as he thrust what was obviously an enormous and thick cock into me. After he was all the way in, I felt his balls slap against my ass cheeks. "Yeah, boy, you're gonna enjoy this cock. It'll give you pleasure for the rest of your days. Everyone you use it on will like it, too, trust me."

I wasn't sure what he meant, but the pain was turning into the hottest, most pleasurable sensation I ever felt, so I didn't really pay to much attention. I was just enjoying getting fucked by this man. He pounded his cock into me again and again, until I could tell that he was about to cum. He was grunting and moaning like a mad man, and I suddenly felt his cock grow even thicker in my ass. He tensed up and let out a loud sound as I felt his very large, but manly and powerful body collapse on top of me.

Then I felt it. He shot deep inside of me like he wouldn't stop. I felt every spray of his cum begin to fill my ass. I had never felt like that in my life! As he squirted into me, I felt my own cum spill onto the couch under me. He was still laying on me, and I could still feel his cock buried inside me. The clock struck midnight. I heard every chime as if it were so loud and penetrating, but pleasant at the same time. I loved the feeling I was having with him just staying inside of me so much, that I wished the clock would never stop. After the clock stopped sounding, he slowly pulled out of me.

I just layed there for a few minutes, and I could hear him getting dressed. I rolled over and opened my eyes and looked at him. We were both smiling. Edward handed me a robe and told me to go shower, as it was time for sleep. I did just that. He showed me to my room, and looked me square in the eye as he said, "Aaron, you're going to sleep very heavily tonight, as I will. When you wake up, you'll be a whole new man. I'll be in the next room. Sleep well, and when you wake up, you'll be a very rich man. Sleep well, young man," he said as he rubbed his hand all through the hair on my head. "That's the last time you'll feel that sensation on your head. I't not so bad, though. It's very low maintenance, you'll see." With that, he left me to sleep. I didn't even think of all the words he had just said to me, I just wanted to sleep.

I WAS 27 (part 3)

I heard an alarm clock sound somewhere in the distance. Even though I really wasn't awake yet, I could consciously discern the fact that the sound of the alarm was mingling with a dream I was having. I was at a really high class shop that sold extremely expensive men's formal suits. Some man approached as I was being fitted by someone else down below me. The approaching man was smiling at me while he put a lighter near my face. I had a pipe in my mouth and this strange man was lighting it for me. I puffed on the pipe as if I'd been craving it for hours.

How strange.....I've never smoked a pipe in my life, and I was enjoying the hell out of it. Then came the sound. It was a very loud screeching noise that emanated from the dressing room behind me, and it got louder and louder until it seemed to be right in my ear.

With a very loud boom, I was suddenly opening my eyes and staring at the ceiling. 'Holy shit! What a vivid dream,' I thought. It was as if I could still taste the pipe smoke in my mouth. I yawned and started to stretch my arms above my head. As I exhaled, I let out a loud and sleepy groan. The sound that came from my throat was way deeper, more baritone than any sound I thought I was capable of making. 'Must be all the alcohol last night. Sure, my throat's raw.'

I felt a cool breeze on my head as if my scalp was naked. As I was reaching up to scratch my head, I noticed that the blanket covering me made a loud abrasive sound as it scraped across my chin, except I barely felt it. In fact, I noticed that something hairy, thick and black was under my nose. My fingers began to touch the skin on the top of my head as I.............'What the fuck!?' My thoughts and everything I knew as the reality of waking up came to an incredibly abrupt halt as I realized multiple sensations and observations all at once. Not only was that scratchy sound of the blankets a very thick beard on my face, which I could never grow in a million years, but there wasn't a single hair on the top of my head and the thick, black woolly thing under my nose was a huge mustache!

I tried to fling myself out of bed, but as soon as I raised my shoulders from the pillow, the weight of my body forced me right back down. I reached down to my stomach where I felt the tension, and my gut was huge! Even though I was laying flat on my back, the gut I was looking down at sat perfectly up and rounded like I had swallowed a beach ball.

My eyes were wide open and I began to breathe as if I could not get enough air to my lungs. I always had a tendency to hyperventilate when I get really freaked out, but even though I was panting heavily, I was breathing just fine. I rolled over on my side and grunted loudly as I got out of bed. I was completely naked, and I looked straight down at what was my body. I couldn't see my feet at all on account of this big belly sticking straight out. Shaking, I walked toward the large mirror which was on the other side of the room. There is no way I can possibly describe to anyone how strange, no, how TOTALLY DIFFERENT my entire body felt with every step I took.

It wasn't hard to walk, but I felt so heavy, so stout, and somewhat more slow-moving than I had ever felt. As I approached the mirror, glimpses and verbal recollections from the night before began to flash across my mind. ".......... My boy, I want to trade places with you. I would like give you half of everything I own, if you'll agree to swap with me................... All you have to do is agree, and also agree to a few exchanges we would have to make tonight to seal the deal and let the magic begin.................. Your life would be radically different. You wouldn't be the Aaron you know, you'd be like me, but this would be your home. What do you say, young man? Could you handle being me?"

I was still approaching the mirror in this enormous room, when all of these words from last night swirled through my mind like a foggy haze stirring in the breeze. Then, with a feeling of an anchor plummeting down to my new stomach, I remembered three words: "Kaprophka Trans doheeshka." 'Am I dreaming this,' I wondered. 'No, the dream was the clothing store and that damn alarm clock! I know where I am. Oh my god! He was serious! We weren't playing around!'

These words and all others that were running through my brain were immediately silenced as I reached the mirror. There before me was Edward's body. I was Edward! With my eyes open wide and my mouth weighing down to the floor, the image staring back at me was over sixty years old. I was every bit the man who was my host last night. The man who invited me over for a "business proposition."

I used Edward's, uh, my hands to feel every inch of what I was looking at in the mirror, as if I thought Edward was standing in front of me mocking my every movement. I ran my hands along my bald head. There was only a bent horseshoe fringe of hair growing around just over my ears reaching around the shiny head. As one hand felt the satiny smooth skin on the top of my head, the other was running thick fingers through a very big and full beard and mustache. The black in the mustache turning salt and pepper, then gray as it spread across my cheeks was even more prominent then I remembered as I had looked at Edward the previous night.

Then I ran those huge hands across the very hairy chest, along the enormous belly, and down to a very large cock between these legs that were as thick as tree trunks. Huge balls hung low like heavy pendulums under the long, thick cock. I had known that Edward's cock had been very large by the feel of it from last night, but something else was odd about it. It looked so different from the penis I had been used to for the past 27 years. There was skin covering its head. It had not been circumcised! I had never seen an uncut cock in my life, and now there was one between my legs! This was beyond crazy.

I reached down and pulled the skin back. It was such an odd, yet very pleasurable sensation. I felt the head of this huge cock as I stretched the skin back with my other hand. I swear there was way more physical sensation on this cockhead than I had ever felt on my "own cock." I froze as I stared at the whole picture of what, no who I had become. 'I'm an old, bald, overweight man! I'm huge!' Just to make sure that I wasn't completely out of my head, I slapped my face. I decided to speak. "What did he do to me?"

Yes, as I thought, that voice that came out of my mouth was deep, extremely masculine, and not mine. I'm not sure how much time had passed as I stood there, but I was brought back to my senses by a knock on the door. It took me a little while to answer, but I finally mustered a, "C'min.....uh,...yeah?"

The door opened up behind me, and I turned to look. Standing in the doorway was my 27 year-old body smiling back at me. "We did it, Aaron. You're a very, very rich man now. It feels a bit odd right now, doesn't it?" Looking at my own self and hearing my own voice speak to me as I stood in Edward's body made everything hit me all at once.

"Sit down, Aaron. You're shaking." Edward went to the closet and grabbed a bath robe and approached me. This was a complete mind fuck! I knew it was Edward, but it was my body! My own body was speaking in a way I never did, walking differently then I ever did, and using facial expressions that clearly were Edward's mannerisms. "Aaron, first we need to get you relaxed. We have much to go over during the next month. Right now, you're in shock."

I sat down, and he handed me a somewhat large pipe that was obviously full of tobacco. I took the pipe from him and put it in my mouth as he fired up a lighter above the bowl. "One reason that you're shaking is that you need your pipe. Your body has been an avid pipe smoker for decades, and pipes are going to be an almost constant companions to you now. Trust me, you're quite used to it.

He was right. I smoked it like I had in my dream. As I smoked the pipe, I was feeling more and more calm. It was almost a mild feeling of euphoria that swept over me. "That's it, Aaron. You're doing well. Now you know why I gave you that small lesson in pipesmoking last night. Don't worry, old man, I'll teach you everything you're gonna need to know and your life is going to be lived any way you want it from now on. The only difference is that you'll live your life as a much older, portly, and rather handsome man, if I may be so bold to say." He smiled and winked at me as he said that.

#bearcub27 #body swap #age progression #magic #consensual #balding #hirsute #weight gain

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bear-and-gainer-story-archive · 7 months

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The Wright boys

The Wright brothers were all very handsome boys in high school, being tall, well-built and naturally gifted at any sport they put their hand to. They were the smart, handsome jocks who always got the girl; the type of guy other guys wanted to be, and girls wanted to date, kiss, just be smiled at… anything they could get, really.

Ben and Larry were the eldest of the brothers and there was a five year age gap between them and the next brother, Dan; with a further year between Dan and the youngest Wright brother, Harry. All four boys had shone in school and spent their 20s living the highlife, as handsome boys tend to do. They stuck together, owning a family construction business that all the boys naturally fell in to. But, their family were always very keen to get the boys married off before they turned 30, with very good reason.

‘Hey Katie, how’s things?’ asked Greg, bumping in to Dan’s new wife whilst out shopping one afternoon. She had always been very nice to Greg, but they were never going to be best friends. However, she had always been friendly enough and helped Greg settle in with the Wright family, since Greg was dating Dan’s little brother, Harry.

She seemed flustered and a little tired. ‘Oh, Greg, hi,’ she said politely, not really in the mood to chat. ‘Are you coming to Ben’s birthday later? Dan has sent me out to find a present for him.’

‘Ha! Snap! Harry asked me the same thing,’ Greg chuckled. ‘I have no idea what to get. I think I’ll just end up getting him a voucher or something.’

‘Just get him something he can’t eat and you’ll be fine – Laura’s going mad about the size of the birthday cake they’ve baked for him. She just knows he’s going to use it as an excuse to overeat again.’

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#feeder86 #weight gain #oblivious #forced #chub #superchub #magic

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bear-and-gainer-story-archive · 7 months

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The Wright boys: DNA

Rob felt his stomach sink as he clicked open the page to see his DNA results. He had been trying to construct his family tree for weeks, after his cousin had given him the bug for it. Together, they had traced back their fathers’ family all the way to Ireland in the 1700s. Rob’s cousin, Jimmy, had had a DNA test done to help them trace back the family origins and now Rob’s were finally ready as well.

“What the hell?” Rob muttered under his breath. Had they messed up his results? He had waited weeks for them! There was always going to be some variation between Rob and Jimmy, but this was not possible. The percentage of DNA overlap between them was less than 0%. There was only one reason why that could be: they were not real cousins.

Rob couldn’t concentrate in the office that afternoon. He needed answers. Everyone was buzzing around like normal and here he was, reeling from this bombshell. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t really look anything like his cousin Jimmy, who had always been a bit of a chubby, clumsy nerd in high school. Rob on the other hand, had been the star jock, handsome to a fault and good at anything he turned his hands to. Unlike Jimmy, Rob had never struggled with his weight, despite the fact that he always ate ten times more than him. He had the appetite of a monster and the impressive muscle tone to match. At 6’7, he towered over them all at family gatherings, but never felt truly out of place, until now. Even though he loved his family very much, Rob had to accept that he didn’t really fit in with any of them.

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#feeder86 #weight gain #oblivious #forced #chub #superchub #magic

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bear-and-gainer-story-archive · 7 months

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Fat Jack

by Fatjack_ma

God he felt like a fool What the hell was he doing here. Jack stood at the door to the apartment shaking his head, unable to actually open the door and go on inside. He had heard about this party from a friend over the internet.

After trolling the net for a number of years, he had bumped into an interesting group of guys on a web site that was devoted to semi-erotic stories about guys changing into something different. Sometimes it was an inanimate object, other times it was a change in sex or a werewolf type change. But for Jack, the hottest things he read had to do with guys changing into other guys; taking on their physical characteristics and traits.

Thinking about it, in the same heart beat, made Jack feel incredibly aroused and incredibly foolish. Why did he want to be someone else? It was a question that he asked himself over and over. What was so wrong with who he was and what he looked like? Many guys would kill to be him; why was he so unsatisfied with what he saw in the mirror. Jack was the typical All-American male. In his late 20's, Jack was, as he often thought of it, cursed with a jock's body. Five foot 11, 190 pounds, he wasn't cut like a professional body builder, but he did have well proportioned muscles and very little fat on his torso.

He had played sports in both high school and college; everything from football to swimming. And he was reasonably good at what he played. However, he never took working out or practicing very seriously. He couldn't even begin to count the number of times that his various coaches would give him the "Jack, why do you squander your talents? You work out twice a week and get the same results as someone who lives in the gym. Aren't you curious what you could do if you really applied yourself" speech. Yeah, yeah, yeah....if they only knew. This isn't how Jack ever felt he was supposed to be.

The guys that Jack always felt looked like real men were the well fed variety. Very well fed. As a kid growing up in the 70's, he used to lie in bed at night with pillows in his PJs, dreaming of Boss Hogg from the "Dukes of Hazard" and William Conrad from "Cannon". Guys with their stomachs sticking 16 inches in front of them, and their ass 16 inches behind were those that got his attention. He wasn't really interested in the "bear" variety from the gym that works about five days a week, but drinks beer like water, and thus has a killer gut. Nope, the guys that were the hottest to Jack were the older ones that had a hard time finding their own dicks because they were encased in fat and probably had never seen the inside of a gym.

So it was with great joy that Jack had found this group of individuals on the net. Perhaps he wasn't all alone in this area as he thought. He had been exchanging emails, stories and pictures with guys on the net for about six months when the topic of tonight's party came up. Jack was shocked when he learned that it was actually taking place in his home city. What are the odds of that? Most everything seems to take place on the opposite end of country from him. Some of his Internet buddies were actually planning on flying in for the event and were pressuring him to attend.

Attend!?! You mean be in a place with other guys all taking bout changing into someone different, let alone being around the nut cases that were actually billing this event as having actual transformations taking place Shit, he didn't think he had the courage to do that.

All of his communications with people regarding the subject were via the keyboard. He didn't even know if he would be able to vocalize any of his deep down wishes and desires. There were days when he would be driving alone, and he would attempt to have an imaginary conversation with someone where he confessed his secret desire to be someone like Orson Wells from his "later days". He would find himself whispering it; even though he was totally alone! Man, he was a total head case.

So it was a bit shocking that he now found himself at the door to the mysterious apartment. He could hear people taking inside. Music was playing, but it wasn't terribly loud; it sounded like a typical Friday night party with friends. And here he was paralyzed to go in.So it was a bit shocking that he now found himself at the door to the mysterious apartment. He could hear people taking inside. Music was playing, but it wasn't terribly loud; it sounded like a typical Friday night party with friends. And here he was paralyzed to go in.

"Are you going in?" said a gentle voice from behind him. While Jack had been fighting his mental war at the door, two other guys had come up from behind him, towards the door. Jack turned, startled. "Uhhhh" was all he was able to get out.

Jack was partly surprised by the appearance of the two guys who had come up behind him. 100% normal. They could be bankers, doctors, sales clerks, mechanics, anything. He wasn't sure what he had expected.

The two gentlemen laughed at the clearly confused, anxious look on Jack's face. "Its not a big deal," said one of the guys. "Go on in and have a look around. No ones gonna bother you. You're among friends. If you get in, and things don't seem to appeal to you, you're free to leave. No body will give you any crap." The other one chimed in, "If you made it this far, and don't at least go in, you'll hate yourself in the morning."

Fair enough, thought Jack. Walking through a door isn't the end of the world. I'll just go in, do a circuit around the room and take off.

When he walked in, he was surprised at how many guys were inside. Additionally, there were a number of women milling about. No one took notice that he had entered; and he surprisingly didn't feel very out of place. It was all a bit surreal. He almost felt that he was watching a movie of himself walking around a party. After a moment of surveying the entry hall, he slowly walked into what appeared to be a living room, fairly packed with small groups of people, having various conversations. Several people were smoking, and a light haze wafted at the ceiling.

It was then that he thought he smelt something different. Someone's smoking a pipe, he thought. Unusual. You don't see guys smoking pipes with half the frequency you did years ago, let alone at a party like this. Intrigued, Jack surveyed the room for the source of the pipe smoke.

It was then that he eyes fell on Tony.

To say that Tony clearly enjoyed life to it's fullest was an understatement of epic proportions; actually Tony was more or less of epic proportions himself.

Jack's heart skipped about 10 beats when he first saw Tony. Tony was sitting in a leather EZ-Boy recliner...well Tony was actually squeezed into a recliner. Weighing in around 350 pounds, Tony more than filled out his 5 ft 4 in frame. And he wasn't one of those muscled-up, but bellied out dudes, either. The only muscle of Tony's that was well worked out was his stomach. As he sat there, looking like king Louis XV in his court; his round gut sat on his thighs, reaching about the 3/4 mark to his knees. Actually, perhaps that wasn't really his gut after all. The fat in his torso didn't form a ledge at the belt line, but instead, continued down to his upper thighs. His "apron" and his gut formed one continuous line of bulk. Just where in that mass was his penis was anyone's guess.

His arms rest at his sides at about forty-five degrees, with his hands clamped together around his belly. The fingers that were slowly making small circles around his gut looked like little sausages.

Tony wore a beard that covered up what was probably a wonderful double or triple chin. Cage from "Ally McBeal" would no doubt be in love with that flap of skin. His hair was thinning salt n pepper gray that was styled with a bit of a comb-over. Clamped between his teeth was the pipe that had originally drawn Jacks attention.

He wore a well cut three piece suit that was starting to strain at the buttons. Jack wondered if he had partaken in a feast before the party. His vest rode up on his gut to reveal a good two inches of the white shirt that was pinned between his skin and his pants. And from there he could tell that he was wearing suspenders. Perfect. Every beautifully fat guy needs a nice pair of suspenders thought Jack.

Jack stood there paralyzed at the vision he saw before him. A big overstuffed hotty, squeezed into a big overstuffed chair. Tony appeared totally relaxed, smoking his pipe, absent mindedly rubbing his stomach, and chatting with companions. Jack couldn't quite make out the conversation amongst the background hum of the party, but Tony sounded as though he had a pretty deep voice with a touch of a southern accent. Jack just prayed to God that the pants he had on were loose enough to hide the painfully raging erection he was now sporting.

How long could he stand there staring? Surly he was making an ass out of himself. He could only imagine how obvious it looked to those around. He tried to play it cool by pretending to be surveying the whole room, almost uninterested in the whole thing. Once he even dared himself to catch Tony's eyes and hold the look for a second with a polite smile.

Jack was convinced Tony had a fantastic ass as well, but, it was well hid in the chair. Perhaps if he went out into the hallway and pulled the fire alarm, Tony would have to get up and give Jack the show that he so desperately wanted. He giggled at the thought.

And then he immediately stopped giggling and was paralyzed with fear as Tony quietly laughed to his friends, stood up and started walking right towards Jack.

Tony seemed to have laser beams for eyes. At least that's how it appeared to Jack. Shit, he must not have been quite as suave as he thought. Tony must have seen right through him to the secret desire that was ready to explode in Jack's chest. What would he say? Would he be able to come clean?

Wait, Tony wasn't looking at Jack, he actually appeared to be looking beyond Jack to something farther off. Tony was going to walk right past Jack and not say a word. In an instant, Jack's fear of Tony talking to him flip-flopped into almost an anger that it appeared that Tony WASN'T going to talk to him. He had to do something...but what?

Just as Tony was stepping past him, Jack stepped in just enough so that Tony's side brushed Jack's hip.

Contact!

"Good work", thought Jack. "You caught a big one...now what do you do with it???"

"Oh! Pardon me" Tony spoke, as wisps of smoke exited his mouth. "Sometimes I forget just how much clearance I need." Tony laughed good naturedly at this line. Jack smiled, and tried not to look like an ass; he was relatively sure that the "Cat that ate the Canary" expression applied at the moment.

"No problem. It was probably me. I was a little lost in thought and didn't notice you." Answered Jack.

Tony's eyebrow raised at this line. "Didn't notice me? Not a phenomena I'm accustomed to, young man. Most can see me comin' a country mile away. HA!"

Jack continued to laugh politely, desperately trying to come up with a line of dialog to keep the conversation running. The pause gave Tony an opportunity to size Jack up.

This one was a hottie, thought Tony. Jack held himself very well. With his broad shoulders and hard pecks, Jack looked good enough to eat to Tony. Actually, to Tony, everything looked good enough to eat. Jack wasn't one of those muscular, super-cut gym dudes that always made you wonder if a chunk of their size was "scientifically induced". Nope, Jack, was well developed, but it looked natural on him; almost like he took it for granted. His thick black hair was cut short and combed straight back; again with an appearance of nonchalant-ness. This kid seemed to have strength and youth oozing out of his pores. Tony found himself a tad jealous of Jack's traits. It seemed like a lifetime ago that Tony had youth; and he perhaps never had strength, and certainly not on the level that this kid had. Just the way he held himself. His body moved gracefully and with such little effort. And almost every physical exertion was an effort and a challenge to Tony. Tony bet that Jack's ass was hard and tight. Perhaps he could get him to turn around and give him a little show. And those hands! They appeared big and strong, with calluses from manual labor. A far cry from Tony's soft, sausage fingers. You know what they say about big hands; and with that thought, Tony's eyes glimpsed at Jack's groin. WHOA! The young man is fairly gifted there as well and seems to hard and ready to go. Tony began to speculate what it was that had Jack so horned up.

Tony decided to break the silence. "I don't believe we've been formally introduced. I'm Tony", placing his pipe back into his mouth, and extending his right hand. Jack didn't waste a second and reached out to shake Tony's hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Jack." Jack's face flushed when they touched. A detail not lost on Tony.

"I don't believe I've seen you at one of these events before," questioned Tony.

Jack was caught off guard. "Ah, no...this is...well, a friend..."

Nervous...flushed...interesting...what was with this cutie?

Jack appeared to be drowning trying to come up with something to say, so Tony decided to throw the young buck a lifeline. "I'm always amazed at the diverse group of people that attend events like this. Like you for example. You're quite the looker, Mr. GQ."

"Oh please," countered Jack with a smile. "You're quite the looker yourself." Fuck! What the hell kind of line was that?!?! God why did he open his mouth!

Tony's eyebrows raised a second time. Interesting statement, he thought. And Jack appeared to be flushing again. Ok, something was defiantly going on here.

"Oh yes, I do declare," and with his pipe clenched between his teeth, and a trail of smoke exiting the corner of his mouth, Tony reached out with one hand and rubbed Jack's flat stomach, and rubbed his own well fed expanse with his other; "we are two peas in a pod aren't we!" Tony started laughing loudly.

The feeling of Tony rubbing his stomach, was like lighting to Jack. He placed his right hand over Tony's hand that was on his stomach and held it there for a moment while the two of them laughed. Jack desperately wanted to reach out to Tony's gut and grasp the glorious mound before him, but, he was terrified that it was just to bold of a move.

"Well," Tony managed to get out after the laughing had subsided, "I was on my way to get a drink. Would you care to join me?"

"Sure"

Jack followed two steps behind Tony into the kitchen. Actually, Jack wished it was no steps behind. He wanted desperately to grab Tony from behind, plant his pelvis firmly in Tony's wide ass and rub Tony's gut with his hands.

The kitchen was large with about 20 people huddled into small groups of threes and fours talking quietly. No one seemed to take note of Tony and Jack entering the room. Jack just hoped he didn't look too much like a puppy dog trailing along behind Tony.

At the center of the room was a large elaborate punch bowl. The bowl had images of old Greek theatre masks around it. You've seen them...images of faces in different extreme emotions...laughing, crying, angry, smiling. In the bowl was some strange green looking punch. It appeared that they were using dry-ice chips to keep cold, given the way a strange misty fog spitting out of the bowl.

Tony pored two glasses of punch and handed one to Jack.

"Here's to your health," Tony toasted.

"And to new friends", Jack replied.

Tony smiled and they both took a big slug of the punch. Strange stuff, thought Jack. It was kind of viscous like Baily's Irish Cream. More like a strange liquor, than a punch. The taste was also funny. All in one gulp, it seemed to be sweet and sour, spicy and minty. Hummm....good, but weird, thought Jack. I wonder if it packs much of a kick, he pondered.

He and Tony continued to linger in the kitchen drinking the punch. Jack was infatuated by Tony and starting to feel pretty groovy from the drink. About five minutes of general chit chat occurs between Tony and Jack with conversation ranging from Clinton and Monica to the Sox, and then Jack started to feel slight cramps in his abdomen. What was in this drink? It certainly tasted good enough, but it was landing like a brick in his stomach. The cramps continued for a moment; nothing too uncomfortable, but Jack decided that perhaps a run to the bathroom would ease the pressure on his bladder.

"Excuse me, I just have to hit the head. Do you know where it is?"

Tony used his pipe as an extension of his hand, pointing it down the hallway. "Second door on the left. Hurry back now" Tony ordered with a grin.

Jack made his way out of the crowded kitchen down the hall. Much quieter down here. Everyone seemed to be congregating around that crazy punch bowl.

Jack slipped into the bathroom and marveled at its size. It was easily as big as his bedroom back at his apartment. And to add to the illusion of size, one large section of the far wall was mirrored. Funny. It's going to be like going to the bathroom with someone else, thought Jack.

Jack unzipped and stood at the toilet to pee. He figured this was a "number one" situation. He was surprised at how much urine he had inside him. He felt like he was peeing like a race horse. And apparently he was VERY dehydrated as well. Instead of his traditional clear colored urine, he was peeing dark yellow; actually it was almost green in color. That's strange, thought Jack. Oh, well, its not blood, so how bad could it be?

He finished up peeing and shook off "Little Jack" and started stuffing him back into his pants. He was semi-erect from Tony's presence in the other room so had to work to zip back up his crotch. Actually, he had to really work at it. His dick and balls didn't seem to have much space to work with in his pants. He wiggled for a few seconds, and then gave up and just unbuttoned his pants so he could adjust himself that way.

Phewwww. The act of unbuttoning his pants alerted Jack to the fact that the waste band of his khakis had started to dig into his side and stomach. He let out a deep exhale once the button had popped open. Funny, he didn't notice that these had shrunk when he put them on a few minutes ago. He wiggled his dick and scrotum into position and hiked back up his pants.

DAMN these things were tight! He took a deep breath and forced his pants closed. He had visions of Ross from "Friends" in the episode where he can't get back on his leather pants because he has sweated so much. Jack wondered if this was a similar situation? He could see leather pants behaving like that, but cotton khakis? Strange.

He walked over to the sink and started to wash his hands. While washing his hands his left index finger started to cramp. His college ring was on that finger and was sized such that it slid on and off his finger relatively easy. But at the moment, the ring felt like it was digging into his skin. He tried to get it off but no good. After a few seconds of soaping it up, it finally slid off like a greased pig. Instantly, the cramping in his finger was gone.

He figured the humidity of the past few days had made his hands swell a little bit. Yeah, that must be it.

He wiggled his hand into his very tight front pant pocket to deposit the ring there until he got home.

Feeling better, if not a bit tight in his pants, he turned to leave the bathroom. He caught a glimpse of himself in the large mirror along the wall. He was surprised to see what a mess he looked like. His hair was a bit disheveled and he looked like he hadn't shaved in two days. Additionally, his shirt was partly untucked and his pants really looked strange. Instead of the normal crease up each leg, the pants were pulled somewhat taught across each of this thighs. He felt a slight waive of dizziness as he examined himself in the mirror. "Lightweight" he thought to himself. Actually, he didn't know what was in that drink; who knows, maybe it was some fucked up grain alcohol; so he really couldn't blame himself for feeling a bit drunk.

He stepped closer to the mirror and ran his hand across his forehead and down his face. "Dude, you're a mess," he said to his reflection.

He ran his hand through his hair to straighten it out, and then started working on straightening out his shirt. It was a challenge tucking it in to his pants. As he ran his hand down along his torso his jaw dropped at what he found.

His hand went slowly down his front, smoothing out his shirt from his pecks down to his waist. All was fine up top, but at the bottom, WHOA, his hand went around the outline of a serious beer gut. He could actually cup the damn thing in his hands. What the fuck was going on? The damn thing was so pronounced that it was actually obscuring the belt immediately in front of him from his vision. He continued to explore his new found gut with his hands. He felt like a woman who had awoken from a coma to discover she was 7 months pregnant.

He turned to look at his profile in the mirror. Holy fuck! He had a gut and a half. What the hell was going on? He tried to think clear but the alcohol was making that difficult. All he knew was that he seemed somewhat paralyzed staring at the reflection of himself cupping a respectable beer gut.

Time didn't have any meaning to Jack at the moment, all he knew was that the sensation of his own hands making slow circles across his gut was a sensation that was almost better than an orgasm. He just kept rubbing it slowly in circles. He was alternating from staring at his reflection and staring down at the protrusion in front of him. His mind was racing back and forth from thoughts of "shit, what the hell am I going to do" to "oh, God that feels good."

It was during one of those "oh God that feels good" waves, that he noticed his hands were really starting to feel as though they were holding a beach ball. Whatever had happened to his gut, wasn't through yet. His stomach appeared to be inflating. His breathing had changed to that of someone having sex. Slow, methodical and deep. Every time he inhaled, his gut seemed to rise and be more full. However, when he exhaled, his gut didn't return to its starting position. It was slowly growing with each breath. Small ovals were forming along the front of his button down shirt from where the buttons were straining the keep the two sides of it together. Looking down his feet were completely hidden from view. His gaze turned back to the mirror along the wall. Yup his feet were still there, but at the moment, they appeared that they would stay real dry in the rain with the roof that was growing three feet above them. Other than the glorious gut attached at his torso, he didn't seem to think anything else was different about his body.

His hands continued to make circles around his gut, spending more and more time on the underside of the ball of flesh that was hovering over his penis. The weight was felt so solid he started to think he was going to have to support it with his hands. He could feel it forcing him to lean over a bit. The "western front" of his beach ball gut now extended a good foot in front of where his formally flat torso had existed. He poked one of his fingers into one of the ovals that had formed in-between the buttons. The feeling of touching the ultra tight skin that he found there was like electricity. He shuddered as he explored this new frontier.

Inside his body, Jack had the sensation of post-Thanksgiving dinner times 10. He felt preposterously full and a little groggy. He felt like a balloon being filled with warm water; stretching and growing. As terrified as he was, he didn't want the sensation to stop.

Eventually the force of his growing girth forced his shirt out of his pants. The feeling of the skin of his underbelly exposed to the air was like a hundred ants marching across the continent that was his gut. However, his shirt had been playing an important role in the support of this new ledge. Without his shirt pulled tight under that ball, his gut bounced lower, hanging in front of his belt. The underside of his gut now rubbed against the waist of his pants. The feeling was better than anything Jack had ever experienced before.

A popping noise brought Jack back briefly to some sense of reality. Two buttons on the front of his shirt had given up the battle and were fired across the room like small missiles. He turned to examine his reflection full on. A few minutes ago, he had what had looked almost like a perfectly round beach ball attached to his torso. Now the scene was different. The ball was no longer spherical, but was definitely longer vertically than horizontally. Although that appeared to be changing as well. The sides of his body appeared to be filling out to meet his gut. No longer was his stomach a seemingly aberration on an otherwise fit torso. His entire chest cavity seemed to be catching up with his gut. The strain of the horizontal growth, was just too much for his shirt. He could feel the shirt pulled preposterously tight across is back. Two more buttons flew off, leaving only one button near the top clinging to life. His shirt gave the appearance of more of a cape, than a shirt; exposing an upside-down V of tight pink skin.

But with the death of the bottom buttons, Jack was able to survey the new stretch of land before him. The first thing that struck him was his belly button. It had always been a small "inny". Now the pressure inside him had made it an "outie" the size of a quarter. The skin of his torso was tight like a "dodge ball" ball. He wondered if someone were to thump it, if it would resonate.

The knock at the door scared the shit out of Jack. It snapped him out of a fear / wonder / orgasmic haze and replaced it all with fear. Shit! He was at some party. What the fuck was happening? How the hell would he explain this. Could he get away and get home without anyone noticing? Was there a window he could get out?

The knock came again, this time more forcefully. "Jack, you OK?" Was the voice from the other side of the door. It was Tony. "Jack, you've been in there for ten minutes. You OK". He had to stall...think of something quick!!!

"Yup. Just minute please" He coughed at the sound of his voice; his voice sounded different. He tried to clear his throat. "I'm mighty fine, and I'll be out in second." Might fine??? Where did that come from? Good Lord, he sounded like he was New Orleans or something! What the hell was going on?

"You don't sound ok, Jack. I'm coming in."

Shit! Jack turned just as the door to the bathroom started to open.

Jack surveyed the room at a lightspeed trying to discern if there was any way out or, any way he could hide himself from Tony. He instantly realized that he was in deep dog shit.

Tony walked in and immediately turned and caught Jack's eye. There was Jack standing before him with what looked like an entire keg of beer sloshing around in his gut. His shirt has long since given up the fight and was hanging open, all except the top button, allowing all the world to see the wonder that was the state of Jack's torso. Jack, instinctively, had placed his hands around his gut in a preposterous attempt to hide that which a blind man could see.

"Oh shit", was all Tony could say. But it was said in stereo, for Jack said the exact same thing when he saw Tony come though the door. For the Tony that came walking in wasn't quite the same Tony that Jack had a hard on for 10 minutes ago. In fact, it was much less of a Tony. Jack couldn't quiet understand; it looked like Tony was swimming in his clothes. Everything hung loose off him, almost like a toga. Where Tony's clothes had stretched tight across his stomach before, now there seemed to be miles of loose fabric all over the place. The only thing that was holding up his pants were his suspenders. In fact, Tony looked a bit like a five year old trying on his fathers business suit.

"I had my suspicions when this started and you mysteriously vanished", said Tony. "I seemed to have lost a bit of myself, and you seem to have found it. HA! Are you ok, son"

"Yeah, I guess...I don't really know. I can't believe this," muttered Jack.

Jack continued to survey Tony. It didn't appear that all of Tony's clothes were now too big. Actually, although his pants were now preposterously too large in the waist, they were about six inches to short in the leg. A large chunk of Tony's calf was now exposed, giving the appearance of "flood pants". With that realization, Jack, looked down to his own feet. It proved to be an impossible attempt given the mass that was currently his gut. He used the mirror to assist him in surveying beyond the edge of his torso. Wow! Jack's pants, although crushing his balls at the groin, were now hanging over his shoes in about half a foot of loose fabric. Holy shit, Jack thought. Not only am I getting fat, I'm shrinking too. Is Tony getting my height?

"Well, this isn't quite what I had expected, ol'e Jack. I never thought I'd find someone who would do this, well trade, I guess is a good word. I didn't realize that for a change, you had to give up part of yourself to another. Are you sure you are ok with what is happening?" asked Tony.

"Yeah, I'm ok, I think"

"Well let me help you...you look a bit silly with that shirt just buttoned at your neck"

Tony walked over to Jack and undid the top button on the shit, and slid the shirt down Jack's back. With the shirt now off, Jack could see that the change in himself hadn't slowed any while he had been surveying Tony. Jack was in the process of growing some serious man tits. His pecks were now starting to rest gently on the top of his gut. A roll of fat seemed to run around his torso originating from his tits. Even his areolas seem to be stretching with the rest of his body. No longer quarter sized circles, they now appeared to be half-dollar sized ellipses, and in the center of them, nipples that appeared to be as big as eraser heads.

Jack's hands went down to his tits and squeezed them gently. A surge of pleasure washed though his body. Tony's right hand went up to Jacks left breast and played gently with his engorged nipple; "nice, huh," said Tony. "Oh yeah," was all that Jack could muster in the fog that he was in.

Jack and Tony now stood eye to eye and were surveying the other. Tony's beard seemed to be growing thinner and thinner. In fact, it now really looked more like that heavy five o'clock shadow that you see on models. Although far from ZZ Top, Jack's beard was filling in and looking somewhat like Al's from "Home Improvement". That is, it would have, it wasn't for the fair amount of gray that was coming in to it. Actually, that wasn't then only thing that appeared to be graying; Jack's hair around his temples was lightening before his eyes.

Seeing Jack survey his own hairline in the mirror, Tony reached up and ran his fingers through Jack's hair. Tony was shocked when he pulled his hand back with a huge clump of Jacks hair that had fallen out with the slightest touch from Tony. "Sorry dude," Tony apologized as he showed Jack the fur ball that was in his hand. Jack ran his own hands through his hair and much more of his hair fell off to his shoulders. Jack was now seriously thin on top. That was about the only thing that was seriously thin about the current state Jack was in. "Well, I guess I'll save on shampoo," Jack joked.

Jack then ran is hand across Tony's head. A full tuft of silky hair was sporting atop Tony's head and visibly growing before Jack's eyes. "I think I see where it has gotten to," Jack commented.

Jack's torso continued to grow at each breath, but that was not all. His thighs were slowly growing big as tree trunks and had begun to rub together. He had adjusted his stance to accommodate their girth when he realized that his pants were somehow miraculously still buttoned. "Oh God, I have to get these pants off now, I think I'm gonna be strangled by them".

Tony was quick to help with that request. He dropped to his knees and undid the button that had been totally obscured by Jack's mammoth gut. Once the button was off, he wiggled them off his ass and down his thighs. Jack kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his pants. He stood there surveying himself.

He was almost completely naked, except for his socks and his underwear, but from the front, with the way his gut now sagged, you couldn't see his underwear. Small dimples of fat had formed along the sides of his thighs. He reached his hand down and slowly rubbed his thigh. Subconsciously, his hands slowly traveled to his ass where he could feel it growing larger and fuller with every breath that he took. He giggled to himself as he wondered if he was going to get so fat that it would be difficult to wipe his own ass. His hands continued around to his front where he discovered that his navel had again changed configuration. No longer was it an outie, but the skin around it seemed to have stretched and pulled such that it was now quite a cave, capable of swallowing four of Jack's now sausage fingers.

Tony continued to survey Jack's ever growing landscape. He slowly rubbed his hand down one of Jack's arms. The stimulation caused Jack to stop playing with his navel and raise one arm for Tony to examine. All traces of Jack's hard biceps and triceps were gone. In their place was a large sack of fat that hung loosely from his upper arm. Even his forearm seemed to have expanded, with fat cells growing all the way down his arms, to the tips of his fingers.

A new tight sensation, a sort of tingling in his groin, immediately got Jack's attention. There seemed to be a pressure building from around his dick and balls. He wondered if his dick was getting fat. The pressure continued to build as he felt the fat in his gut start to settle south. His huge gut was no longer falling over top of his underwear, but seemed to be surging under it; almost encasing his groin in fat. It was as if, his gut could no longer hold all the fat, and that some of it was being distributed elsewhere. "What the hell is happening?!?" Jack panicked.

Tony reassured Jack. "You can't expect a man of your size to carry all that weight in your gut. You seem to be growing what some call a 'fat man's apron'. Your weight is distributing itself a bit more. You're growing into a perfectly round little butterball. You'll enjoy it. Here, feel that?"

Tony's hands moved to the mass of fat that was swelling below Jack's belt line. The sensation of Tony's hands moving across Jack's "apron" caused semi-orgasmic waives to crash across Jack. "I see what you mean. "The downside is," Tony warned, "that visually, it will appears that you have a much smaller dick than you do, with so much of its base hidden." "Its just a sacrifice I'll have to endure," said Jack.

With the fat that continued growing along Jack's sides, and the continued swelling of his breasts, Jack's arms now rested at about 30 degrees from vertical at his sides. His hands continued to make slow circles around his gut and groin area. Another new sensation was discovered by his fingertips...peach fuzz was growing across his chest and filling in to a nice thick fur from his neck down to his groin.

The swelling of his body finally became too much for his underwear, and it ripped and shredded at the growing balloon that it was trying to contain. The underwear fell away like rags to the ground. "Underwear is overrated anyway," joked Tony.

"And how you doing?" Jack inquired of Tony. With the ripping of clothes and explosion of fat that was going on around Jack, Tony had all most forgotten about what was happening to himself. He looked down at the preposterous site of his clothes hanging off him like a tent.

"Well, these seem a tad silly, don't they" Tony said, lifting the loose fabric of clothes that hung around him. Tony dropped his jacket to the floor, and tossed off his vest. He slid is suspenders off and the clown-esque pants that they were holding up fell to the floor like a curtain. Tony's boxer underwear also fell to the ground with his pants. His naked legs appeared to belong to those of a sprinter. Gone were the tree trunks that had rubbed together for decades, and in their place were to muscled thighs with pronounced calve bulges. Tony rubbed his hands along his upper thighs and felt the muscles flexing beneath his fingers. His fingers also found a rather rigid 8 inch long penis, bobbing at attention. It was hard for Tony to keep his hands off it. But he felt he had to see what was going on under his shirt. In stead of undoing each of the buttons, he just lifted the shirt up over his head and let it fall to the ground with the rest of his old clothes.

Remarkable changes had occurred in Tony's torso as well, and were continuing. Gone was the mammoth gut that Tony had carried around for a lifetime. In its place, was a good sized beer gut that appeared to be getting smaller by the second. Tony's pecks were also shrinking and tightening; growing firm and powerful. Small waves of muscle twitching were racing over Tony's torso. His gut growing smaller and smaller with each breath. The hair on his chest was also thinning at the same time; leaving behind a smooth, tan, tight skin in its absence.

Now it was time for Jack's hands to do some exploring. Before the last traces of Tony's gut vanished, Jack reached out and slowly caressed Tony's stomach. Softly, under is breath, Jack spoke to Tony's disappearing waist line and said to himself "come on over." As Jack removed his hands, Tony's stomach was completely flat...wait, no, it wasn't flat, there were six small ridges appearing across his stomach area. Tony's abdominal muscles were making a much pronounced appearance.

With each breath Tony took, his waist appeared to get a bit smaller and his upper chest a bit thicker. He pectoral muscles were growing and spreading across his shoulders and back. His lats were growing and beginning to look like those of a swimmers. Additionally, over the past 15 minutes Tony's arms had gone from dimpled sacks of fat, to relatively thin, and were now growing pronounced biceps. His guns continued to grow, and waves of muscle contractions continued to race up and down his arms until his upper arms measured about 18 inches in circumference. Tony couldn't resist the temptation any longer and he flexed his new found arms to the enjoyment of Jack.

Jack laughed. "Enjoying yourself, young man?" Tony was caught by surprise by this question. Young man? He turned to look at himself in the mirror. Standing before him and staring back was indeed a young man, of probably late 20's. He appeared to be about 6 feet tall, with short, but full brown hair. Gone was all traces of a beard; in fact, except for the top of his head, underarms, and groin, his body appeared remarkably smooth. His chest was full and strong, and his arms weren't ripped, but were naturally strong and muscled. The trend continued down to his hands that were large and calloused. A young mans working hands.

Tony's waist now appeared to be about a size 32, and his ass was tight and perky. Tony was in love with his own image.

Standing next to Tony in the mirror was a corpulent man of about 50 years old. He appeared to weight around 350 pounds and had huge tits that rested on a mammoth gut that totally buried his penis. He wore a full beard that was speckled with much gray; the beard was two inches long and covered up was what probably three chins. Then man didn't appear to have any neck to speak of and was pretty much bald except for a few wisps of somewhat greasy looking hair along the side of his head. His arms rested at his side at a pronounced angle and were grasped together across his waist. A huge, dimpled ass acted as a counter weight to the mass in the front and that was apparently critical in assisting this man in not toppling over. The man appeared to be very pleased having a grin from fat ear to fat ear.

"Just fine, thank you sir," Tony replied after a long moment of gazing. "How bout yourself?"

"Son, I'm so horney I think my balls are as blue as a Dixie sky, and I'm a bit concerned about my ability to easily do something about it", replied Jack.

"I think I can assist in that area," Tony said. And with that, Tony dropped to his knees, and buried his face into the underside of Jack's gut. Freeing Jack's penis from several layers of fat, Tony proceeded to give Jack the most amazing blow job he had ever received. While Tony was blowing Jack, he was masturbating himself. Being in such a heightened stated of arousal for a while now, it didn't take long for either Jack of Tony to simultaneously cum with a force.

"That was mighty nice of ya, Tony," thanked Jack. "But now what do we do?"

"My pleasure. I guess we put some clothes on and rejoin the party."

"Sounds like a right good plan, young man" Jack couldn't get over the sound of his own southern voice or how he kept referring to Tony as "young man."

Tony helped Jack get into his old clothes. Everything seemed to fit like a glove. Jack loved the feel of the suspenders being pulled up over his shoulders and hoisting his pants up over his waist. The feel of shirt pulled tight across his gut, and the vest and jacket adding to the sensation. He wore his pants up over his waist giving himself a more round look. He wondered if when he popped an erection if it would be visible to others or if his "apron" would allow him to walk around permanently erect and he would be the only one who knew it. Actually, the way his fat encased his groin and the way is penis was rubbing against the underside of his gut, he figured he'd have a raging hard on for the rest of his life. He marveled at the vision he saw before himself in the mirror.

"Well, I'm presentable, but what about you?" asked Jack, as he and Tony surveyed the destroyed underwear and button-less shirt that had been Jacks.

"I can make do," answered Tony. Tony proceeded to put on Jack's old pants commando style, letting his dick hang free inside. He put on the shirt and didn't tuck it in, letting it hang out and open. He chest was exposed for all to see the rock hard pecks and abs that were there. He was pleased at what he saw in the mirror.

As was Jack. He did a final smooth out of his jacket with his hands, he felt something in the right pocket. He placed his hand in, and pulled out Tony's pipe. It was still warm from when Tony had been smoking it earlier and the tobacco seemed to still be good. Jack clenched the pipe in his teeth and fished around in the other pocked for what he hoped would be a lighter.

"Try the vest pocket" instructed Tony.

Sure enough, the vest pocket contained a silver lighter. Jack shot a glance at Tony, smiled, and flicked the lighter on. He brought the flame to the top of the bowl and inhaled deeply through the pipe. The flame was drawn down to the bowl and the tobacco glowed back to life. Jack could feel the smoke coursing though his new huge beautiful body. A tingling sensation along his tongue told him that the pipe was fully lit. He returned the lighter to his vest pocket and continued to puff fully on the pipe, smoke slowly encircling his head. Yes, this was right. The image in the mirror was the right one after all there years. He sat there with a grin on his face, staring at his reflection, puffing away on the pipe.

After a moment, Tony interrupted Jack daze. "Feeling ok, buddy?"

"Great! Actually, I'm famished. Where can I get some good eats?"

Tony laughed heartily. "I think I know of a few places that will satisfy that new appetitive of yours. Come with me."

And with that, Jack followed Tony back into the party.

#body swap #weight gain #rapid weight gain #balding #age progression #age regression #tight clothes #magic #humiliation #hirsute #smoking #pipe

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bear-and-gainer-story-archive · 7 months

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Heavy Service

by Maelstrom

Mike wandered into the leather bar, he was a little nervous, this wasn't his normal space. His smooth tan form was wrapped in a tight tank and jeans. He had grown tired of the club scene, the endless train of identical Calvin-Klein ads and knew he wanted something different. He wasn't sure what that different was, but he figured this might be an interesting place to start looking.

He made a quick circuit, watching the men. Pretty typical of the leather crowd he had imagined, more with large hairy guts than he was expecting but he found that bothered him less than he thought it would. The powerful masculinity the thick beards and jutting guts projected kind of distracted him.

He wandered up to the bar and ordered a beer, just one for tonight, he had to keep those washboard abs to impress the gym boys later. The bar tender handed him back his change with a grin, "Be seeing more of ya later." Mike wasn't sure what to make of that but shrugged it off, he was used to men coming on to him in wierd ways.

As he moved away from the bar he noticed his jeans felt a bit tight, his movements seemed a bit awkward, but passing it off. "Damn, must still be sore from the gym, he thought to himself."

After making it a ways through the bar towards the back, Mike realized he was still holding his change, he moved to put it back in his pocket but his hand absently brushed against something. Looking down he realized that the something was a ring of fat that had somehow appeared around his waist. Shocked, Mike moved his hand across the still fairly small spare tire that surrounded him. As he shifted he could feel his now larger ass shift in his pants, see a belly starting to protrude.

Absently he scratched at his face, noticing a faint itching that he now realized had been there for a bit. His hand encountered a faint beard, short, but far thicker than his normal sparse covering. Looking down at where his small belly was beginning to push out the bottom of his tee, he saw curls of hair starting to push out of the top.

Mike move off to a corner, starting to panic a bit. His body was starting to feel heavy, over stuffed. He could feel his legs starting to brush together as he walked. Worse yet, he could feel his gut still pushing, starting to swing in response to his walk. It had pushed his tight tee almost to it's limit. He had to adjust his movements to compensate for the mass growing on his front end and realized with horror his starting to waddle.

Once in the corner Mike stood there, his mind reeling, trying to find a space to hide and figure out what was happening to him. As he turned he could feel his belly scrape the shelf, beginning to jut out from under his shirt as it pushed up the fabric. He could feel the scratch of his beard on his neck, as it filled out, getting larger, more bear like. "What the fuck is happening to me?" kept running through his mind again and again. He stared down at his shirt, watching the hair from his lower belly begin to emerge from underneath. He couldn't resist moving his hand down there, he could almost conceal it's entire width beneath his new girth. His now slightly pudgy fingers moved through the ever thicker fur that covered his underbelly, stroking, feeling the warm mass. Mike had never had an ounce of fat on him before, much less body hair, and the feeling of having his belly rubbed and kneaded was intense. Even, he suddenly realized with a growing terror, erotic.

"Damn it", he thought to himself, "I've got to figure some way out of this." Looking around, trying to figure something out, he saw a hugely beared man with a giant gut headed his way, a slight smile at the panic he saw in Mike's face. The man was massive, his belly contained in a strap harness, jutting out for everyone to see. He looked to either side but it rapidly became obvious that man was heading right for him. He moved up to Mike and reached past his massive belly to pull up his shirt, watching the gut spilled out like the shirt had been the only thing containing it. Mike nearly fell over as his new addition expanded in it's newfound freedom, he found himself leaning back a bit to compensate for the mass that was jutting out a good two feet in front of him.

He stared in shock at his massive gut just as the man rammed his even large belly into Mike's smaller one. He could see the two rub and push each other, but worse yet he could feel the fat shift in his own body, feel it jiggle and pull all around him, encasing him. "You want to stay like that forever boy?" he asked in a low rumble. Mike looked at him in disbelief, "You did this to me?" "Come with me or you will", he ordered.

Mike tried to follow him to a door at the back, his new belly swaying before him, he could see the other men staring at the fat pig he'd turned into. His beard brushing his chest now, it didn't seem to have stopped growing. He reached up and ran his fingers through it, feeling the thick course hair that covered his face now, up his cheeks towards his eyes. He had never even had a mustache and now his beard stretched nearly to his pecs, or the sagging tits that his pecs had become.

Mike waddled into a back room following the man that he knew was, for the moment at least, his Master. The man closed the door then striped off his pants, his gut hanging low and still hiding his crotch. He reached over to Mike and did the same to him, removing his shirt as well. Then he swiveled him so he could see himself in the mirror, the site there taking Mike's breath away for a moment. He saw a hairy fat man with a heavy beard, the beard blending in with the thick pelt on his sagging tits. Mike could see his normal face around the eyes and nose, peaking out at him from this fat man's body. "Please sir," he saw this fat bear-man stranger in the mirror say in his voice, "what do you want sir?". He could see his huge beard shift as he spoke, feel it move on his hairy tits.

"You see what you are now? If you don't serve me well, this is you forever. I control you now, see?" With that he placed his hand over the small of Mike's back and he saw his ass expand like his gut, a big counterweight. He could feel it's mass hanging off of him. The heavy cheeks rubbing as he shifted. Mike's belly then shifted and lept forward, still hard and round, but now expanding down to cover his crotch as well, he could feel it on his dick. Mike stared at his new change in the mirror and realized in horror than he was truly obese now. He could feel the rolls of fat under his arms as he moved to touch his sagging tits, the nipples now large, and round. "Damn, I have tits!" he thought to himself as he watched them swing and sift as he moved. His stance was wide legged now, his thighs and underbelly preventing his legs from moving close together, he could only imagine how he would waddle now.

"So you better please, or this is your new life." Mike slowly rotated, his movements were akward as he tried to steer around the sudden fat that encased him. Carefully he lowered himself to his knees, feeling his belly rub on the floor. He could feel his fat spread as his belly hit the ground, a flowing softness he'd never experienced before. He pushed his face in the other man's gut, lifing it up, buring himself in it looking for his dick to service him, to regain his old body. He could feel his fat rubbing against the other man, and it freaked him a bit that he felt it getting him off, the feel of the fat against fat, his flesh soft and rippling. His belly began to swing in rythmn with his head buried in his Master's gut, he could feel it stroking his hardening dick. Mike realize with some revulsion that he was fucking his own gut, and that it was getting him off.

Finally, after kneading his way through his Master's underbelly, Mike found his dick and start sucking. He could feel his body rocking as he sucked him off, his heavy beard made things a little more difficult, he wasn't used to the mass of hair that covered his face and ran down to his tits, rubbing against his master's fat crotch.

The hot, dry expanse of the huge gut rubbing his head as he sucked the Master off combined with the feeling of his own massive belly rubbing his dick was bringing waves of pleasure through Mike despite himself, and he tried to reach himself under that massive gut, but he couldn't get his arms under the blob he'd become to do it. He felt himself struggling with his own fat as shifting and sagged, concealing his rod even from him. He finally managed to get one hand on his tool and rubbed the bottom, the top still stroked by the hairly expanse of his underbelly.

Finally he felt the Master's dick kick and surge, cum streaming onto his face, Mike came at the same time, leavning a stream of his own on the underside of his own gut. He fell back on his fat ass, feeling his belly fall between his legs. The Master stepped back and considered him. "Not bad boy, not bad at all. But I think you make a pretty nice fat man, and at some level I think you like it. So no dice boy, you're a fat bear now, get used to it." And with that he moved out.

Mike tried to grab him, to do something to escape his new body but as he reached the Master looked behind and waved his finger, "I don't think so fatboy." Mike felt a surge in his middle as his belly shoved out to his knees. As he looked in shock at his again new body the Master exited out the door.

Mike slowly stood, feeling the mass on him, hanging off every part of his body. He slowly reached up to feel the double chins under his nearly two foot long beard, running down it's furry length to where it blended with his thick pelt of chest and belly hair. He slowly dressed in clothes that now seemed adjusted for his massive form. Struggling to fasten his pants under the heavy poundage that reached nearly to his knees.

Moving at a carefull pace Mike moved out and into the bar, adjusting to the new gait his wide thighs and swaying gut and ass required, he could see the men looking him over. Some shocked at his obesity, but some with a hungry sort of desire. Mike leaned back against the wall and ran his hands over his heavy new addition, imaging those men doing the same, surprised as the wave of pleasure that moved through his body as he stroked his belly fur. "There may be some advantages to this after all" he thought to himself and steered his gut towards to bar.

#weight gain #rapid weight gain #beard #hirsute #humiliation #dom sub #fit to fat #belly #chub #super chub

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bear-and-gainer-story-archive · 7 months

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Some pinned resources for finding more extensive archives from some of my favorite authors Favorite Authors: Ventrego Elf Visceral Stories The Portly Gentleman You're Fattening Up Now Likeembig The Gaining Desk Danger Cocktail McBaer Boeckman

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bear-and-gainer-story-archive · 7 months

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#dangercocktail #rapid weight gain #weight gain #belly #forced #stuffing #pear shaped #chest #chub #super chub

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bear-and-gainer-story-archive · 7 months

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They were hard to miss as they made their way through the airport: a big group of excited young men, all dressed in loud Hawaiian shirts and neon shorts. Between the baseball caps, Oakley sunglasses, and din they made from one end of the terminal to the other, it was impossible to mistake them for anything other than the frat boys they were.

“Spring break is upon us,” sighed one airline employee to another, as one of the boys hooted “SPRING BREAK!” to raucous cheers. The group made its way to their gates like a school of piranha, gobbling up beers and candy in their wake, until they all crashed down into their seats to wait for their flights to take off. The group was on three separate flights - there were no direct ones to the Bahamas, so they were stuck connecting through various cities, with a reunion planned at Señor Frogs that night.

Among the group connecting through Charlotte, North Carolina was a young man named Griffin Poell. He was slight in build but as loud as the rest, a former high school pole vaulter who had replaced that hobby with drinking lots and lots of beer. He’d been into skateboarding in junior high, and never thought he’d be a frat boy, but his uncle encouraged him to get the full college experience and give it a try. Griffin wound up loving it. Student loans would have him in debt up to his eyeballs by the time he graduated, so it would be good to have the connections and rich friends that came with pledging. He’d even had his ticket for this trip paid for by his roommate’s dad - not that the man knew, because Griffin’s roommate just charged both tickets to his dad’s card. “He doesn’t check it.”

Griffin was tossing a foam football back and forth in the terminal with two of his buddies when he heard the page. “Passenger Griffin Poell please see the gate attendant, Griffin Poell…” They pronounced his last name like ‘Pole,’ which everyone always did - it was actually pronounced ‘Pale’ but Griffin knew it was him being paged. He batted the football down to the floor, narrowly missing a passenger walking by, and bounded over to the gate.

“Hey there, I’m Griffin Poell.” He hit the pronunciation extra hard.

The man behind the desk had a big build and the voice to match. It made Griffin feel like he was talking to his dad, even though the guy was probably only a decade older. “Ah! Yes - we wanted you to know you’ve been upgraded.”

“Upgraded to what?”

“Business class.”

“Really?” Griffin had never sat up there before. “What for?”

“The flight is overbooked,” the man rumbled. “You were actually randomly selected to get bumped to the next flight, but then we had this seat free up because a passenger changed their plans. So, you get the upgrade. Not a bad deal!”

Griffin thought this was great, until he noticed a note next to the man’s hand on the desk: “Break group up.” He almost said something, but then he realized he shouldn’t make a fuss over an upgrade, even if the intent was to separate the frat like they were overly chatty grade schoolers. They could’ve just plopped him in another coach seat, and instead they were putting him up with the bougie folks.

Then he remembered his roommate’s dad’s card. “Is there any extra charge with it?” Griffin asked.

“No, no. It’s a free upgrade.”

“Dang. Sweet! Thank you dude.”

The smile on the man’s face struck Griffin as odd, but all the guy said was “my pleasure.” Then he added, “And please, no more terminal football.”

“Oh! Sure thing, sorry.”

Griffin returned to the group and received fist bumps and back slaps once he revealed his news. He liked that he, one of the guys who didn’t come from money, was the one who’d gotten the upgrade. He wanted to get more booze before they took off but now that he knew he’d be getting it for free on the plane, he decided to hold off. Instead, as he hung at the gate surrounded by his buddies’ luggage, he checked his airline app and refreshed it.

When his ticket upgraded to reflect his new business class status, the QR code changed from being black and stationary to rotating and shimmering, like it had depth. Griffin stared at it sleepily, wondering why business class ones were like that. Maybe it was to prevent fraud. Or maybe it was just because it looked fancy, and business class was for fancy people, Griffin laughed to himself as he looked at his decidedly non-fancy Hawaiian shirt, zebra print shorts, and sandals.

Man, that code sure was mesmerizing, though…

“Poell!”

“Whuh!” Griffin’s head snapped up. “Was I asleep?”

“You were just staring at your phone like a zombie, weirdo. Here.” One of Griffin’s friends handed him a bottle of water, which he chugged. “Gotta be on your hydration game this week.”

“Yeeeeeaaaaah buddy,” Griffin smiled, though the thought of all the cheap beer he’d be chugging this week was less appetizing than this morning. If he didn’t know that he’d be ruthlessly mocked for it, he’d switch to something more…substantial, like good bourbon. But that was expensive and he wanted to be one of the guys, so cheap beer it was. Whatever. The alcohol wasn’t the point of the week anyway. Being with his friends was the fun part.

“Group 1, you are welcome to board at this time,” came the announcement from the gate. The entire group of boys went “oooOOOOooooooo” as Griffin stood up, laughing and fist bumping his way through once again.

“Look at Mr. Fancypants in biz class!” one frat brother said.

“More like Mr. Fancyshorts,” said another.

“You love ‘em!” Griffin hollered, wiggling his booty back and forth as he walked up to the gate and scanned his ticket. The agent who’d upgraded him smiled.

“Is this your first time in business class?”

“Sure is,” Griffin said, adjusting his backpack.

“Nice. It’s going to be a big adjustment for you. Just enjoy the change.”

“Cool, I will,” Griffin nodded, but as he walked down the jetway he wondered why the gate agent said that. Seemed kinda weird. Oh well.

Another strange incident happened once he got on board. He stashed his bag in the overhead and sat down in his seat, which was wide and plush, not at all like the stiff chairs in coach. The flight attendant came over and asked if he’d like a mimosa.

“What’s a mimosa?”

“Champagne and orange juice.”

“Oh, dope. Yeah.”

“Great! Oh, and you wanted a seatbelt extender - I’ll grab that,” the guy said as he walked around the corner.

Griffin thought the attendant was making some kind of weird joke until he came back with the mimosa in one hand and a strip of polyester in the other. He gave the mimosa to Griffin and then, without saying anything else, unbuckled Griffin’s seatbelt, added the extender onto it, and buckled the whole thing together over Griffin’s lap. The belt had been snug. Now it hung loosely across Griffin’s thighs. He was able to pull it all the way to his knees without unbuckling it.

“Uh, I don’t think I need-”

But the flight attendant was already pulled away by another business class flyer, so Griffin just sat back and drank his mimosa while his frat brothers filed onboard and razzed him, rubbing his hair and giving him high fives. “Look at this guy! Livin’ it up…”

“Hey Poell, they give you a foot massage too?”

Griffin erupted in loud, booming laughter that took even him by surprise. He covered his mouth and nearly knocked his mimosa over.

“Okay, it wasn’t that funny,” the jokester said, giving Griffin a pleasant smile as he walked past. Griffin coughed out the last of his laughter and wondered why it came out so thunderous. He did feel kind of giggly - the champagne bubbles were going straight to his head.

An embarrassing gurgle emanated from his stomach as another frat brother shuffled past toward coach. “Damn, Poell, craving some of that first class caviar and crab legs?” joked the guy. Griffin smiled and nodded this time to avoid laughing too loud. He was hungry, that was true - hopefully he’d get some free food.

He drained his mimosa, set the glass on his arm rest, and the attendant replaced it with a fresh one. They hadn’t even left the gate and Griffin was buzzed. The bubbles tickled his nose and lips and made him grin as he drank, filling his tummy with the same fizzy lightness as his head. The flight was boarded now, and Griffin turned to look back at the main cabin where all his buddies were razzing each other and finding their seats. He noticed a few irritated looks from the passengers around them and thought that was too bad - the guys were just having fun, they didn’t mean any trouble. They’d chill out once the flight was in the air anyway.

He tipped his head back and drained the rest of his mimosa, punctuating it with a loud hiccup. A few moments later, he was holding glass number three. Was he supposed to be drinking this much? If the flight attendant was letting him, it had to be allowed, he supposed. He raised the glass to his mouth, paused for another hiccup, then took a long, satisfying sip. The bubbly feeling was in his whole body now, from his tingling toes to his airy, unfocused thoughts. He enjoyed the sensation, and it made him forget how fast he was drinking. Having something to do with his hands was good, because he was a nervous flier. Griffin wasn’t sure why he was nervous, though...he’d flown thousands of times. Well, maybe not thousands. Hundreds. Dozens? He knew was an experienced flier, though he couldn’t think of when or how a college freshman could have accumulated all those miles.

He finished the third mimosa right as the plane pulled away from the gate to take its place on the runway. Griffin giggled when he heard his buddies in the main cabin hooting with excitement as the plane started to move. Spring Break was gonna be awesome.

“Hic!” Griffin held his breath as the plane taxied. He could feel the hiccups being restrained, and shut his eyes to count out twenty seconds.

The plane shot forward, accelerating as it prepared to take off. Griffin felt a great whoosh as the fizziness in his body all raced into his center, accumulating in his belly. The bubbles spun around and around like clothes in a dryer, the loud gurgles in his stomach hidden by the noise from the plane outside. With his breath held and his tummy tumbling, a tight pressure was building in his abdomen.

Right as the plane’s wheels pulled off the ground, the button of Griffin’s shorts blew off and smacked into the wall in front of him. Griffin didn’t see it happen since his eyes were still shut, but he felt the relief. He exhaled sharply, a dazed smile on his face, and out from his midsection swelled a small, round curvature pooching over the waist of his shorts. It was mostly hidden by his shirt, but the bubbles were still swirling around in there, and each gulp of air appeared to be making Griffin’s stomach slightly fuller.

The plane climbed higher, and so did Griffin’s abdomen. The little round ball protruding from his rib cage was noticeable now, and large enough to press against the buttons of his baggy Hawaiian shirt. There was a loud gurgle, once again hidden by the roar of the plane’s engines, and the round shape grew. Bigger, firmer. It stuck out like a dodgeball hidden under Griffin’s shirt, steadily swelling like a tin of Jiffy Pop. And each time it lurched larger, Griffin felt more relief. So he kept breathing, the bubbles kept churning, and his belly kept inflating.

POP went a button at the bottom of Griffin’s shirt, as a pale white sphere forced its way through the opening. Griffin gently rested his hands on the sides of it, not quite realizing that it was his stomach, and that he’d never had “sides” to his belly at all. He gently gripped it like a basketball, although it was bigger than one now, and steadily expanding as the plane continued to rise in altitude. His shirt was struggling to hold it in - the fabric was taut around his stomach’s new mass, and his seatbelt wasn’t nearly so loose anymore.

The plane soared higher. Griffin felt his bottom press harder into his seat from the speed of the climb, like it did when a roller coaster shot upward. Except he probably couldn’t ride roller coasters anymore. The sculpting of his new belly was picking up speed too, and it was becoming much grander in scale. Two more shirt buttons shot off at once, ricocheting off the wall and flying around the business class cabin as Griffin’s gut ballooned in prominence to fill his seat. It pushed out over his thighs and against his arm rests, shifting into quite a statement - the most noticeable part of his physique. As the plane rose again, Griffin’s new ball belly did too, pushing up under his chest at the same time it shoved his shorts lower.

No longer did the bubbles within feel like a gentle tingle - they were like waves crashing back and forth against Griffin’s insides, making his stomach ever rounder and larger. His Hawaiian shirt remained neatly buttoned over his chest, then cascaded open over his immense belly, framing it like a window treatment. But he did feel something against his skin: his seatbelt, now pretty tight even with the extender. It loosened all the way to make more room for the young man’s massive midsection.

Griffin’s belly had become spectacular. A beach ball forged from solid steel rested in his lap, pulsing with expansion as the plane reached close to its cruising altitude. With another surge of size, it grew to fill out his extended seatbelt, snapping it tight across him. Griffin scratched at it, his bare skin irritated by the friction. The prickling feeling spread out from his bellybutton, as Griffin’s pre-existing treasure trail fanned out wide from its previous confines, shooting up the center of his ball belly like a trail of gunpowder. As his new enormous belly solidified, it swathed itself in fluffy curls from top to bottom.

The plane ceased its climb and evened out just as Griffin’s stomach finished its transformation. On the body of a young, skinny frat boy was the biggest, hairiest belly this side of Santa. It was big enough to take up his seat on its own, like another person curled up on Griffin’s lap. He reclined his seat with a soft “Ahhhhh,” his muscle gut hoisting itself up toward the ceiling, close enough that the air blowers made his belly hair rustle.

He dozed off for a bit, globular midsection rising and falling, until the ding of the seatbelt sign being turned off awoke him. He needed to pee, come to think of it...the mimosas had run right through him. Griffin worked to find the buckle of his seatbelt, which was wedged up between his arm rest and the side of his belly. Once free, he stood up like he did when he had a flat stomach, sending him careening forward as the weight on his front pulled him down. He bumped into the wall in front of him with an irritated grunt, then stepped to the lavatory, which was two steps away from his seat. Another first class perk.

Griffin opened the door of the bathroom and stood in it, his belly filling the entire space before he even stepped inside. He backed up, turned around, then walked backwards into the lavatory instead, which allowed him to pull the door shut and sit on the toilet to piss. “Need to lose some weight,” he sighed to himself, resting his arms on top of his gut as he peed. Pulling his shorts back up was a hell of a battle, but he finally managed. He couldn’t turn around fully either, so he had to wash his hands standing to the side, his belly pressing into the door. That was when it finally dawned on him: his gut was projecting out from his shirt.

Mortified, Griffin went to work trying to button his shirt back up. It was hopeless. To say it was too small was an understatement. He said a silent prayer and wondered why no one mentioned his bare belly out there. “Come on,” he pleaded to his Hawaiian shirt. With another tug, he swore he felt the fabric stretch slightly, the two sides moving a bit closer together. Encouraged, Griffin tried again, and again. Maybe the fabric had some elastic in it? That would make sense - he tried to get all his shirts to have stretch in them. The new elastane in the fabric made it feel silkier and sturdier, and as Griffin pulled desperately on the two sides of his shirt, the garish floral pattern stretched too, thinning out into something more subtle and classy. The neon pink faded to lilac; chartreuse palm leaves warped into light green lines.

“Come...on...yes!” The chunky Hawaiian shirt button had diminished into a white mother-of-pearl one, and it finally met its hole on the opposite side, pulling tight as a drum over Griffin’s huge belly. His shirt was warping around him, but he was too focused on the struggle to worry about his collar stiffening and stretching up around his neck, or his sleeves beginning to grow down his arms.

The connection of another button proved to Griffin that he could make this shirt fit. He wasn’t processing that extra rolls of fabric were unspooling across his back so that his belly could be contained, or that his size small shirt was stretching into an extra-large, then XXXL, then off the charts into custom territory, the front shirt tails extending three feet longer so they could be tucked in. The clasped buttons of his shirt pressed firmly into the door of the lavatory as he went to work on another.

The obnoxious floral design of his former shirt was all but gone now; in its place was forming a light yellow-and-green plaid pattern laid over a serene lilac. The light purple was pleasing to Griffin’s eyes as he fought with his buttons, hoping they’d eventually connect well enough to hide all his belly fur from poking through. Around his neck, his starched collar was stretching bigger and wider, becoming an ultra-wide spread collar as stiff as cardboard. It rubbed against his jaw as he looked down at his buttons. His belly stuck out so far that the buttons on top of it pointed straight up at the ceiling.

He briefly had to stop when his sleeves reached down to his hands and began to uncoil like flowers in full bloom, but after a few irritated shakes, the new massive French cuffs around his wrists didn’t get in the way anymore, except for the sterling silver cufflinks shining in his eyes. Finally, he was buttoned up. “Much better,” Griffin sighed, fighting to tuck his shirt tails into the top of his shorts. His belly heaved and roiled inside his shirt, but the tailoring was precise and held firm. He looked at himself in the mirror, angling awkwardly to appraise his appearance. His hair was long and shaggy, but at least it was combed. His gawky young face looked odd on top of his exquisite custom dress shirt, but there was nothing he could do about that. He reached up to open his collar - no sense in leaving it closed since he’d foregone a tie - and smiled as the huge collar points sprang apart. The meaty French cuffs he sported looked good too, especially with the family heirloom cufflinks he’d gotten from his grandfather.

Griffin emerged from the bathroom feeling confident and classy, even as he fought to navigate his belly to make the turn back to his seat. He made a noise of satisfaction as he fell back into his chair, running his hand up over the front of his belly, just close enough to rub his fingers over his buttons and feel how they were fighting to hold. He liked the feel of that struggle, and how they slightly dug into his flesh.

“Cookie?” the flight attendant offered, smiling down at Griffin and offering him a tray.

Griffin took one. “Yes, please, thank you,” he said politely.

He was only a few nibbles in when he felt something snap against the side of his thigh. Griffin extended his leg out to the side and looked curiously at what he saw: what appeared to be a very long suspender clipped to the top of his socks and running along the side of his leg up inside his shorts. He pulled one side of his shorts slightly up and looked at the “suspender” wrapping around his thigh. Then he remembered it was connected to the bottom of his shirt to keep it tucked in at all times. Griffin was never without shirt stays, the long garter style. They kept his dress socks high and his shirt tightly tucked. What he didn’t understand was why he’d worn them with shorts. Or why he was wearing shorts at all, since he hated wearing shorts. Or why he’d decided to pair his sheer dress socks with sandals. Had he gotten dressed in his sleep?

The bottom of his gaudy shorts were rolled up, so Griffin sheepishly started to undo the rolls just to cover that extra bit of his shirt stays. More and more fabric unspooled out from the shorts - far more than Griffin expected, much to his relief - until the hems of long zebra-print pants plopped onto his sandals, fully covering his legs. Griffin felt embarrassed at the design, but at least his garters were covered now, he thought as he leaned back and returned to his cookie.

Hidden beneath his mighty belly, the jagged zebra stripes on his pants straightened out from top to bottom, then started swirling together to make a handsome gray color that went far better with Griffin’s dress shirt. The waist expanded to double its original measurement, hugging the bottom quarter of Griffin’s belly and pushing it out as an extra long belt wrapped around his mass and buckled itself tightly. The cheap cotton of his former pants shifted into expensive, soft wool, sharp creases appearing down the legs to complete the change into elegant dress trousers. The transformation dripped onto Griffin’s feet, which pushed through the front of his sandals, growing thick and wide as hair burst out of the tops. Then, in a flash, they were covered, laces forming out of the ruined sandals and heels pushing out of the bottom, as a pair of beautiful, polished brogues formed on Griffin’s larger feet. Griffin plopped them onto the ground, tapping his foot happily as he ate his cookie, not realizing his calves were swelling inside his pants, growing big and strong to cart his new belly around. Brawny muscle pushed out in solid mounds against the backs of his pants. But all he was worried about was dusting the crumbs off the top of his belly. Damn thing was like a table, always catching the scraps.

God, he loved this shirt. The cuffs, the collar, the fabric. It was beautiful, and he felt beautiful in it. He didn’t know why he’d worn it today - all the other guys were dressed for the beach, and here he was in full businesswear. But that was just Griffin’s thing. His friends knew it. He always wore custom dress shirts, fitted slacks, and polished shoes. He’d be wearing cufflinks every day during Spring Break. All he’d packed were business clothes. That was all he wanted to wear.

The plane shuddered, and Griffin gripped his armrests. Turbulence was normal, he knew. Didn’t make it less freaky though. His hands squeezed tighter as the plane bobbed up and down. The flight attendants were unconcerned, so Griffin knew he was probably fine. But his grip remained tense, and was getting stronger, even. His hands were growing. Not in length, but in size. His knuckles bulged and his fingers thickened, as patches of hair bristled out of the backs of his hands. Veins stood out from his skin, pumping size up into his sleeves, the fabric starting to tighten as his arms gained definition and mass. A lot of mass. Not all of it muscle, but all of it big. Hulking biceps pressed into Griffin’s torso, the elastane in his shirt starting to put in work. The sleeve plackets above his French cuffs struggled to hold from all the girth piling onto his forearms.

And then the hair grew. It fluffed out of Griffin’s armpits and swirled down his biceps, around his elbows, across his lower arms, filling in the last millimeters of space inside his shirt sleeves, which were now straining to hold his overgrown gorilla arms. Griffin’s meaty hands released the armrests as the plane settled, and he breathed a sigh of relief, then cracked his knuckles. Damn, it was hot. Long sleeves and long pants had their downsides. He opened the two buttons over his chest to let some air in, his collar spilling further open. Then he leaned back and shut his eyes, arms folded over the top of his barrel belly.

“Anything I can get you?” the flight attendant asked as he came down the aisle.

Griffin shook his head. “Man, you all take good care of us up here - I’m not used to all this attention! It’s a big change from coach to business class.”

“You seem to be navigating the big change quite well,” the flight attendant said with a smile. The remark was punctuated by an abrupt shout from the main cabin, turning the flight attendant’s head. He sighed.

“What’s going on back there?” Griffin asked.

“It’s a group of frat boys playing a game or something. They keep hitting each other. I’m not sure. My colleague keeps asking them to quiet down.”

“Oh, those are my frat brothers,” Griffin admitted with embarrassment. “I never realized they were so immature. I’ll go talk to them.”

“It’s fine, sir, don’t worry-”

“No no, I insist,” Griffin said, unbuckling his seatbelt. He got to his feet more deftly than his first attempt, better navigating his newfound girth. But he still wasn’t used to all the extra weight, and his steps were graceless. Each heavy stomp made his belly quiver and buttons groan, aftershocks reverberating through his torso. The vibrations centered around his chest, his nipples fattening up like receptors. They became sensitive and tender as they rubbed against the inside of Griffin’s dress shirt, and the stimulation made his pecs begin to grow.

As Griffin advanced forward down the aisle, his chest pushed out at the same rate. It got rounder - fuller - the front of his shirt filling up with new size and mass. Griffin’s new pecs were coming in wide and solid, growing not just out in front of him, but to the side as well, testing his shirt’s side seams. Fabric folded up between his pecs and belly until the shirt got too tight and flattened out, pushing Griffin’s brand new muscle tits up to his chin and allowing them to expand faster and more dramatically. A dazed smile crept over his face as his open buttons were pushed further apart by his cleavage, which erupted out of the front of his shirt and undulated in rhythm with his big muscle gut.

Beneath his shirt’s struggling buttons, a new line of hair crept out from his navel and traveled upward in a straight line, perfectly centered over his belly. By now, some of Griffin’s frat brothers had noticed him approaching, laughing as they watched him squeeze himself down the smaller aisle in coach. Griffin smiled back at them, absently itching at the new trail of hair that now was visible between the open buttons of his shirt, making its way through the valley of his mountainous pecs like a lit fuse. His rock-hard nipples, now tripled in size, protruded through his shirt fabric and earned some judgmental looks, but they were the perfect capper for what was now an astonishingly huge chest. Griffin’s pecs resembled two gallon jugs balanced on top of his belly, barely contained by his shirt. All eyes were on them.

“Didn’t know airplanes had airbags!” a frat brother hooted too loudly.

It took Griffin a moment to understand what that meant as he finished his approach to the group, but he chuckled when he realized, and the vibrations of his laughter made his monster tits grow even more. Then, he arrived in between the seats of the group, just as the fuse of hair reached the center of his pecs. He planted his feet with a stomp, and the fuse erupted. Hair shot out from the middle of his chest, climbing over the mountains and down the other side, as hundreds of glossy curls proudly emerged from his smooth skin. In a moment, his massive rack was covered with beautiful, glossy chest hair.

“Heard you boys are causing a ruckus!” Griffin said, plucking at the button at the base of his chest, which was buckling under the weight of his hairy pecs.

“Bet,” said a frat bro, raising his arm for a fist bump. Expecting a high five, Griffin slapped his palm into it. The group laughed. He frowned.

“I just hope you all aren’t being rude to the crew,” Griffin continued, resting his big hands on the backs of the seats on either side of him. His cufflinks sparkled hypnotically.

“Big guy gets one first class upgrade and thinks he can lecture us,” shouted another frat bro, and before Griffin could tell him to lower his voice, the boy was up and giving Griffin a noogie. It only lasted a moment, but a lasting effect was revealed as Griffin shoved the guy back into his seat with a forced laugh: he was now missing a large patch of hair from his head, as if an out-of-control lawnmower had torn across it.

“We’re being fine, Poell, chill,” another boy said defensively.

“I am chill!” Griffin insisted. “I just want you fellas to be nice to the hard working people, that’s all.”

“We are, DAD.”

Griffin rolled his eyes. “Now none of that. I know none of us are from Shahw-leht-” The word emerged sounding bizarre. Griffin coughed and tried again. “SHAHW-leht…Ah know none uh us is frum Shahw-leht-”

“Picked up a Southern accent from just flying over the South, Poell?”

“Ah don’t know whah Ah sound lahk this…” Griffin drawled, his words coming out at half speed. “I was just trying to say, even though none of us is from Shaaahw-leht, we can still act like good Southern gentlemen.” The accent was not going away. If anything, it was getting thicker, weighing down Griffin’s words like it was drenched in molasses.

The noogie guy leapt up and went at Griffin’s head again. “Homie puts on a nice shirt and thinks he’s god!” he laughed, and the other boys hooted too. The guy got in more rubs this time, each one erasing hair from Griffin’s head like an invisible razor. But it wasn’t just a free haircut; Griffin’s follicles were shrinking, closing, and leaving in their place a telltale smoothness that said the hair was never going to grow back.

“Get OFFA me, boy!” Griffin rumbled furiously, placing his frat brother back in his seat with more force this time. He smoothed down his hair to fix the style - he hated looking messy - not realizing he was wiping the rest of his youthful locks away and leaving nothing but a thin, brittle laurel wreath of hair encircling his scalp. The top of his head was as smooth as a still lake. In a matter of moments, Griffin had been afflicted with every man’s fear: he’d gone very, very bald.

Despite the brief tussle, Griffin’s shirt remained immaculately tucked thanks to his garters, so his attempt at smoothing out any wrinkles was just an excuse to rub his big belly. “Ah’ve said my piece, so I better not hear any more hollerin’ back here. Behave!” The group responded with a low murmur of mocking fear.

Griffin turned around, knocking his noogie assailant smack in the face with his belly, but before he could take a single step, his bottom suddenly inflated. The sound of stretching fabric filled the air as his dress trousers strained.

“Badonkadonk,” whispered one of the boys, to titters from his friends.

Griffin moved cautiously forward, each step widening his hips and bulking his butt. The round, fat cheeks developed an eye-catching bounce as they swelled, bounding up and down as they started to brush against the seats. His waistline was expanding too, giving his belly needed support and forcing his thighs to grow in strength and size. He didn’t understand what was happening or why he felt so good, but the sensation of his clothes struggling to hold his mass was intoxicating.

The big man caught himself against the backs of two seats, shuddering with pleasure as his ass ballooned to fill the whole aisle. His trousers rode up between his massive glutes, pulling tight over his crotch and enhancing his bulge. Beefy lifters thighs created friction with each step, wearing down the insides of his pants.

Just when he was getting too wide for the main cabin aisle, Griffin arrived back in business class, allowing his hips and ass to widen further and fill the extra space. His enormous butt heaved in tandem with his belly as he walked back to his seat and squeezed his new bulk down between the armrests, barely fitting.

“It’s nicer up here, huh?” The flight attendant joked as he refilled a pot of coffee.

“Y’ain’t got no idea,” Griffin chuckled ruefully.

“Still enjoying the big change?”

“Yes,” Griffin nodded. “It’s a necessary change.” Two big traps pushed up through his open collar, turning his neck into a boulder of muscled mass.

“I agree. Thanks for trying to talk to those boys back there.”

“They’re an embarrassment,” Griffin drawled in his deep accent, extra syllables making their way into almost every word. “They need to grow up.” He scowled with disapproval at his frat brothers, and his mouth drooped...then drooped further...and suddenly, Griffin had a handsome pair of jowls. An odd look on someone so young, though it fit his shiny bald head well. “I ain’t against kids havin’ fun, but you gotta be respectful about it,” he continued, and his jaw widened into a broad, powerful square, then shifted forward into a masculine jut with a strong chin to match.

“You flying home?”

“No,” Griffin said. “I’m going on Spring Break with my friends.”

“Oh, I assumed Charlotte was home, because of your accent.”

“It’s not, but it could be, couldn’t it?” Griffin had never considered that his thick accent made him sound like a North Carolina native. “I’d fit right in. Maybe I’ll move there someday. Become a businessman.”

“You’ve certainly got the look for it.”

Griffin smiled, new crinkles forming around his eyes. He knew he looked like a businessman. That was his goal. He was starting to feel like one, too. Probably why the idea of Spring Break wasn’t appealing to him at all anymore. He hated the beach. He always got a sunburn on his bald head. And then he’d return to work, itchy and exhausted and having to play catch up. The effects of late nights spent working were having their way with him: his eyes were becoming baggy, and flesh was building out around his face, rounding his cheeks and broadening his forehead. His head was as brawny and square as the rest of him, and it made him look older. He didn’t resemble a collegiate frat boy at all anymore - anyone looking at Griffin would see a middle-aged man.

Charlotte...the more Griffin thought about it, the more appealing it sounded. He didn’t like the beach, and he didn’t much care for his immature friends. Were they even friends? He couldn’t remember any of their names. They couldn’t be that close. And where were they heading, even? Was it...Bermuda? Or Bora Bora...something with a B. He reached for his phone in his front pocket, but his girth pressed too closely into his seat, so had to stand up to slide his phone out. He looked down at the screen as he crammed himself back into his seat, and in his peripheral vision, his nose grew and thickened to the perfect size for the rectangular reading glasses that plopped onto it out of nowhere. Griffin adjusted them so he could view the screen properly, flicking through apps until he landed on the airline one so he could find his spring break ticket.

But it wasn’t there. The only ticket he had was to Charlotte. So, he’d be getting off there for the time being. That didn’t particularly bother him, though - it would be nice to spend some time with his friends there. He’d order his favorite steak dinner, play some golf, and enjoy a good cigar. And he didn’t even have to get a hotel, because he had a house there. It surprised Griffin to remember he owned a house, but of course he did, where else would he live? He couldn’t be shacked up with his parents forever, especially at his age. Plus, a house in the Myers Park neighborhood was a good investment...

God, he was so confused. He needed a fuckin’ drink. He’d been thinking he was a little tipsy, but that was ridiculous - at his size, three mimosas had the same effect as three glasses of water. He reached up and pressed the call button, enjoying the view of his big French cuff, and the strain of his shirt across his massive back.

The flight attendant popped up next to him nearly instantly. “Yes, sir?”

“May I have a Scotch, please?” Maey Ahv uh Scotch, playze.

“Absolutely. I should’ve brought you one earlier, I know it’s your favorite!”

“Y’all always take such good care o’ me.” Griffin was always impressed when the flight attendants remembered him, but he supposed there weren’t too many customers with his physique, he thought with pride and a fondle of his belly. As he waited for his drink, he played with his cufflink and felt his cock chub up. That was a fun perk of being as big as he was: with his belly and thighs, he could pop a full-on boner and no one could see it. As long as he stayed sitting down. It was the reason for his shit-eating grin when the attendant brought his drink back. Just having an erection in public made it get even harder, tenting his slacks and running along the curve of his belly. “Thank you.”

Griffin sat up straight and tipped his Scotch back to drink it, and the arch of his back burst open a third button on his dress shirt, sending more chest hair and pec meat spilling out into view. He nearly creamed his pants when he felt it. He felt so different in business class...almost like a different person entirely. His thoughts, loosened by the burn of the Scotch, began constructing a whole identity around this alternate fantasy Griffin. This man was a native of Charlotte, North Carolina, with the tranquil drawl to match. He was a successful businessman: a financial executive, which was how he could own a nice home in a ritzy neighborhood. He enjoyed his status and filled his big body with the best food his hometown had to offer. He was older than Griffin. A lot older. 50. Not 18. Griffin didn’t like being 18. He had no money of his own and couldn’t do anything. 50-year-old executives could do whatever they wanted.

50-year-old Southern executive Griffin only wore dress shirts and custom trousers. If he had to dress down, he wore a polo shirt. His shirts were never, ever untucked. He was fastidious about his appearance. He always had a clean, close shave and kept his remaining hair tidy. Not like the younger Griffin, who was scruffy and wore beer boxes on his head at parties. Executive Griffin would never do that. He wasn’t against having fun, but he was more serious than his younger counterpart. Growing up did that to you. And Griffin felt grown up now. He didn’t know how, but he did. He really felt like a middle-aged executive.

He took another drink and savored the burn. What would he call this new man? Come to think of it, what was his name? The big businessman couldn’t remember. Stupid fizzy feeling in his brain. The name would come back to him, he knew, but he could choose a different one for the time being. His first thought was one that would emphasize his accent. Marvin. Maahw-vin. Marvin Yates, that was his name. Marvin Charles Yates in full, he recalled looking at the MCY monogram on his French cuff. That was a good name. That was a 50-year-old executive name. And who wouldn’t want to be Marvin Yates? Marvin was successful and dominant and attractive. It felt so amazing to be him. The young man inside the big body could feel himself evolving...maturing...it was wonderful. He knew he had a different name and that he wasn’t born in the South, but he didn’t care. He wanted to be Marvin. The illusion wouldn’t work if he was being confused by all the old stuff. He needed to become Marvin in every way.

The confidence filling him was addictive - he could feel Marvin’s ego expanding, and he loved it. His cock stretched longer and firmer inside his pants, and he loved that too. He loved having a long, girthy cock. And big fat balls. They were smooth for just a moment longer, and then he felt the hair burst out like a powder puff. It made him moan under his breath as he fondled his pecs and stimulated his nipples. Marvin was such a huge, powerful man - he was everything a man should be - the formerly young man had completely lost any attachment to his youth, and was now abandoning it entirely, letting himself become smarter and more serious, a cavalcade of new likes, dislikes, and skills conquering his brain. Some of the old, unnecessary knowledge was already leaking out of him for all to see: there was a small wet spot on the front of his trousers, his heavy pre-cum having soaked through his underwear.

The wet spot was expanding as the big man embraced his transformation. His giant cock forced his legs wider. He could barely breathe, he was so excited. He was changing - becoming Marvin - he could feel Marvin seeping into every part of him. That was all he wanted in the world, to be Marvin in mind, body, and soul. And he could feel it happening. Reality was bending around him, and he was conscious of it, but it didn’t frighten him - it was a necessary occurrence so the universe could welcome Marvin Yates to its ranks.

“Mmm…” It dawned on the burly businessman that he couldn’t just cum in his pants in public, no matter how much magic - or whatever it was - was pumping into him and changing him. He needed to get to the lavatory...and he needed to start that journey now, short as it was, because he didn’t move fast anymore. He pushed himself out of his seat and onto his feet, clomping down the aisle as he felt himself becoming more and more Marvin by the moment. He remembered he shot big loads. And he was about to blow his biggest one yet.

He lurched into the bathroom and shut the door, moaning louder now. His belly blocked his view of the toilet, so he hoped to god the seat was already up. It was happening - fuck, it felt so good - his shirt began unbuttoning itself, revealing more of his titanic physique, and his pants and briefs unzipped and shimmied downward. He loved everything about himself. His handsome, weathered face; his body hair; his baldness; his style; his ego. And most of all, his giant, bulky body, with that beautiful belly. “It’s time...it’s time...it’s...TIME…”

His first load as Marvin was one for the record books. Cum erupted out of his giant cock like a geyser, splattering into the toilet bowl, over the seat, and all over the underside of his hairy belly. “Yeeeeeeeeeeessss…” he groaned, as Marvin fully took hold and the world adjusted to his existence. He lay against the door, groaning and panting, the afterglow of his orgasm letting the rest of his new life settle into place. His briefs pulled themselves back up, and his pants did too, tucking his tired cock away. His shirt buttoned back up to the base of his chest, the shirttails reclipping to his garters and pulling tight for their precise tuck. His belt encircled him and hoisted his trousers up. The cum he’d doused the bathroom in evaporated on its own. Marvin Yates left the bathroom looking immaculate and feeling untouchable.

Marvin moved with grace, well accustomed to navigating his huge frame through spaces and angles. His buttons brushed the corner leading to the aisle, but he cleared it, and as he turned he locked eyes with one of those frat boys in coach. He raised his index finger and pointed at the kid, like a dad warning his son, and the frat boy nodded with a gulp. Marvin smirked and sat down in his seat, adjusted his reading glasses, and went to work answering emails for the rest of the flight.

When the flight landed, Marvin was the second off - he grabbed his leather carry-on out of the overhead, from the same place where Griffin’s backpack had once been. He always smiled when he got off the plane and the Charlotte air hit his face and chest. It smelled like home.

The flight landed early, so Marvin’s car home had yet to arrive. He took the opportunity to sit down in one of the airport rocking chairs and finish up a couple more emails. It was a couple minutes later that the group of young men made their way past him, their loud voices carrying through the food court. Marvin chuckled. He remembered his fraternity days. So long ago now. They’d been fun, but he didn’t miss them. Adulthood was better. He’d matured. And he hoped, one day, that those boys would too.

#aardvarkia #weight gain #mental change #belly #age progression #dress shirt #muscle growth

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bear-and-gainer-story-archive · 7 months

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The Gentlemen's Club: Chapter 1-3

by VoodooWeaver / The Portly Gentleman

Chapter 1:

“Fuck that shit, this job keeps getting worse and worse ” Joe exclaimed as he walked into his apartment and shut the door behind him. For as long as he could remember returning home from work always caused the same feelings of resentment, frustration and anger to manifest.

He walked towards the mirror he had in his tiny living room and looked at himself, letting out a low sigh as he gazed at his reflection. He wondered how it had all come to this; as a child he had had so many dreams and aspirations, he was going to be somebody. Yet he was already 30 years old and had amounted to nothing. An average looking guy working in the same old job putting soaps into boxes with the same old work clothes day in day out. He was overworked, underpaid and had zero job satisfaction. He worked long hours only to earn a measly salary that allowed him only the bare necessities which included renting a tiny apartment, a few pieces of furniture that he was lucky enough to pick up at clearance sales, and a worn down beat up car. He had learned the hard way that life in New York was filled with opportunities only for those who were lucky, and was enjoyable only for those that could afford it.

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#voodoo weaver #the portly gentleman #weight gain #rapid weight gain #hirsute #forced #balding #gray hair #impotent #humiliation #reality change #mental change #pipe #sartorial

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bear-and-gainer-story-archive · 7 months

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Never date a Beckett boy

Zach Beckett’s curse never made sense to him until the day he saw Mark: the guy who seemingly had it all. Mark was handsome, confident, with a killer body and could annihilate anyone at the gym. Even the personal trainers had never come across anyone so fit and capable. Guys looked up to him and girls hung on his every word; the most over-sexed man in town.

Zach however, had been forced to suffer his family’s curse for twenty five years, the school butter-ball, lardy and round, garnering no respect at all. He couldn’t even run a full lap around the track with his big, cumbersome, 360lb body. Still, he had suffered it, knowing that one day, his family’s curse would kick in. Now, at the age of twenty seven, he had finally shed most of it, sleeping his way around the city offloading it to whoever he wanted. He stood in the gym mirror, looking at his handsome face, his striking jawline and toned stomach without an inch of fat on it. Damn! It was worth the wait, he sighed, pleased with himself.

“No man, you’re position is wrong,” Mark cautioned Zach, whilst he was squatting. “Keep your neck up. Activate your core,” he nodded, patting his own chiselled stomach as if to demonstrate. Zach hated guys telling him what to do at the gym. The place was littered with egos; guys trying to out-do each other, analysing and nitpicking at everything the others did in order to make themselves look better. Stronger. Superior. Mark was the worst of them. He was the man around this gym; or so he thought.

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#feeder86 #weight gain #forced #revenge #humiliation

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bear-and-gainer-story-archive · 7 months

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The Online Revenge

by Voodooweaver / The Portly Gentleman

Will was putting the finishing touches on the website he was designing. The client had placed the order since a month ago and it had kept Will quite busy throughout that time. He felt a sense of pride as he gave one final surveying look at his work before sending the confirmation email to the client stating that the project was complete.

As he clicked the send button, he lay back in his chair and placed his arms behind his head.

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#the portly gentleman #voodoo weaver #age progression #weight gain #forced #humiliation #reality change #hirsute #mental change #belly #revenge

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bear-and-gainer-story-archive · 7 months

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Stage Presence

The three boys reached the edge of the fairground, their stomachs full from a day of eating fried food and talking about girls and videogames. The exhaustion of the day finally caught up to Carter Iverson, the skinniest and shortest of the three young men, so he plopped himself down on an empty park bench. Following suit, his friends Liam Pierce and Jackson Miller sat down beside him. The freshly minted high school graduates stared into the crowd of people walking in front of them in a moment of rare silence. They had become bored and restless. Carter especially had a strong and sudden craving to cause trouble. He ran a hand through his spiky brown hair and scratched his side.

“Come on guys, don’t you think we should carry through with that prank to tape over the toilet seats of the mens’ room?” he pleaded, with the earnest neediness similar to a child asking a parent if they could buy them something.

“You don’t still really want to do that, do you?” Liam raised an eyebrow.

“It would be fun.” Carter insisted. “And I know we’re looking for something fun to do before September.”

“That’s just so middle school,” Liam replied.

Carter rolled his eyes and craned his neck. “Jackson, you agree with me don’t you?”

Jackson just laughed and took a sizable bite out of his chimichanga. “You can do it and we can watch, how about that?” he said while still chewing.

“Christ, you guys sound like my parents,” Carter said, shifting back to rest his back on the bench. “When did you guys become so lame?”

“Alright, I’ll bite,” Liam said begrudgingly. “Maybe we could mess with Jonah Pinkerton and his preppy-bunch of future frat boys.”

Carter gagged. “Those guys are the worst. I breathe in their cheap cologne and I wanna throw up. And I can’t stand to hear them blab on about cryptocurrency.”

Liam laughed and punched his lanky friend on the shoulder. “I just knew it would get a reaction out of you.” The two laughed and Liam spoke again, this time more sincerely. “Is it bad that I don’t have the desire to do stupid pranks anymore?”

Carter sighed. That wasn’t a surprise coming from Liam.. There had been no crazy adventures all summer like Carter foresaw. He felt like he was losing his friends. They were both going to college in the next month. Unlike them, Carter just didn’t have the drive to go to college. He didn’t like high school much and he didn’t feel the incentive to pile on more schoolwork right away. It wasn’t like it was an affordable endeavor either. Slightly defeated, he spoke. “No, it’s not bad. It’s just-”

“I think they’re having some kind of event at the Moonstone Stage,” Jackson interrupted while casually scratching his slightly larger stomach. “We could check that out, it’s right over there a-ways.”

“Well well, Jackson,” Carter said impressed and grinning widely now. The troublemaking gleam had returned in his eyes. “What a great idea! I think we should get over there right away.”

Carter lead the way after the three boys stood up at once. Jackson took one final bite of his chimichanga, tossed the wrapper in a garbage can, and started up a conversation about the newest BoneStar game coming out next week. They were all kind of casual like that. They didn’t need a strong reason to do anything, they just wandered and preoccupied themselves with what they felt was interesting. The trio turned a corner as they approached the backside of the stage. As they stepped closer, they were met with an empty area. Labeling the patch of grass surrounded by makeshift grey walls as “backstage” was a bit generous . As the boys cautiously ventured closer, they were pleasantly surprised to see not a single other person.

“What do you want to do?” Jackson whispered to Carter.

Carter spun his drawstring bag around and fished out a can of scarlet-colored spraypaint. “I can just paint a cool design on the place real quick. Maybe spraypaint the walls or the floor and leave my signature logo.” Jackson just nodded in solemn agreement, but Liam was apprehensive.

“I don’t know Carter,” he said and quickly checked his back. “Aren’t we too old for this?”

“Why the hell does it matter?” Carter shot back with pent-up rage. “Come on dude, you’ve been such a buzzkill this whole summer. We are the Crystal Bay Road Kids for crying out loud! We’ve been messing around since we were twelve.” His voice echoed against the walls and dribbled into momentary silence.

“Well, I don’t want one of your stupid pranks to get me in trouble,” Liam retorted as he raised his voice slightly louder than Carter’s. “I have a scholarship for baseball that I cannot afford to lose. Besides, dumbass, this isn’t a bridge underneath the interstate, this is a public fair! You’re just asking to get caught!”

“Yeah,” Carter sneered as he popped the top off the can. “Just watch them try and catch me.” He walked up the backstage stairs to centerstage with a cocky smirk on his face. However, a sudden warming feeling filled his body and he exhaled loudly as he felt his foot go numb. It was as if he had absorbed a temperate energy from the stage.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” came a booming voice from behind the boys that shook them all to their core.

The three boys turned around in unison to see a strapping security guard who looked like he ate kids for breakfast. His gaze was instantly piercing and he bared his teeth as he spoke with an unnerving vocal suppression. “Get the hell off the stage boy,” he said between gritted teeth which were juxtaposed by his black goatee. His visage could kill and his bald dome reflected the sunlight. Carter swore he could see the guard shaking with rage as he trudged back down the backstage steps. There was still an intense tingling in his right foot that felt strange to walk on. Scanning the guard’s body, Carter realized the man was gigantic and that one of his legs was about as wide as his whole body. He glanced at his friends to see their nervous faces.

“Gimme that can,” he yelled, a few inches from Carter’s face now.

Saying nothing, Carter obeyed, defeated. He had encountered the macho-man persona before, but never this close and personal. The man was terrifying and had a self-obsessed and aggressively manly aura similar to his gym teacher from middle school. Then, he felt his heart sink into his stomach.

It was the gym teacher from middle school.

Mr. Paulson was his name. He looked a bit older now, but it was undeniably him with the pronounced forehead and gelled-up black hair. With a light-blue shirt and a tie, he certainly looked different than in gym class. If the other two boys hadn’t gone to a different middle school as Carter, they would’ve shared in the awkward dread that was consuming him.

There was a short-lived silence until Mr. Paulson said the dreaded words that Carter prayed he wouldn’t hear him say. “Carter Iverson?” he said, this time his macho voice cracking a bit.

Shit. “Yep...it’s me,” Carter replied, forcing a smile, but the shame on the larger man’s face was undeniable. It filled Carter with a strange remorse he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Mr. Paulson glared off into the distance and then back to Carter as if he was trying to collect himself. Noisily, he exhaled through his nostrils and spoke again, his anger now back in full force. “You’re lucky I don’t press charges, Carter Iverson. If I would’ve stopped you a minute later, you bet your ass I’d book you for vandalism. Now, I don’t want to see you three near this stage ever again.” He turned his head to the other two boys. “You hear me?”

The three muttered yes all at once.

“Now all of you get lost.” Mr. Paulson crossed his arms as his eyes shot daggers into Carter’s own nervous eyes. “Consider this your lucky day, Carter.”

In unified silence, the three slowly walked away out of view of Mr. Paulson and back towards the much busier pedestrian walkway. As they assimilated back into the crowd of people, the three were too shocked to say anything. The pressure in Carter’s foot grew stronger as he walked. Glancing down at his foot, he was relieved that it looked the same. It just felt like it was swelling.

“Can you believe that guy?” Jackson piped out. “What a jerk, right?”

“Yeah,” Carter agreed petulantly.

“Exactly as I was saying,” Liam said, trying to put it kindly. He put his arm around Carter’s shoulder as they walked. “That could’ve been a lot worse, dude. I mean, I’m just glad you didn’t get taken away or anything.” That comment made Carter smile a little bit. The bond of the three of them was extremely tight. “How did that guy know your name by the way?”

“He was my middle school gym teacher believe it or not,” Carter sullenly replied, “I guess he didn’t like the way I turned out.” The pain had spread to his right leg and it felt a little stronger now. Luckily, there was an empty bench to his right. As the three sat down, Carter made an unintentional hissing sound between his teeth.

“You okay?” Jackson asked, seeing the visible distress in his friend’s face.

“Yeah, I think I just pulled a muscle in my leg or something,” Carter said, closing his eyes and wincing for a moment as he felt the pain sensate the nerves of his leg. He decided to face Liam and swallow his ego. “Liam, I’m sorry dude.”

“It’s okay,” Liam replied, extending his arms out for a hug. As the two briefly hugged, Carter felt a vibration pulsate from his core. It shook Liam a bit and as the two parted, Carter could feel a discomfort centralized in his lower body. Glancing down, he noticed his grey shorts felt a little tighter and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. Shifting in the seat didn’t help much either.

“You...uh wanna go try those funnel cakes?” Carter asked as he pointed to a nearby food stand.

“Yeah,” the two other boys replied.

Liam and Jackson stood up with ease but Carter felt his weight shift a bit as he stood upright. Temporarily immobilized by a headrush, a wave of energy emanated from within his stomach and it expanded a little, lightly pushing against his black t-shirt. Quickly returning to his senses, he jolted forward to catch up with his friends yet as he walked, he began to feel a bit more cumbersome and less agile. He wasn’t sure why though. He may have had a great metabolism but he wasn’t always the fastest kid. A light breeze tickled the underside of his belly which was slightly exposed. Feeling embarrassed, Carter pulled his black shirt further down as he walked.

“The mini donuts here are so good here, you guys,” Jackson said as he jumped in line.

“Ooh, that’s what I’m gonna get,” Liam agreed.

“Really?” Carter asked, feeling his natural jubilance returning. “The funnel cakes are the best thing here, no question.”

“Nah dude,” Jackson laughed, quickly matching his friend’s new glee. “The funnel cakes just taste like grease and sugar. The donuts have much more expertise involved.”

“Since when are you a food critic?” Carter asked while gazing at his friends, “I’ve literally seen you eat an entire box of Goldfish in one night.” There was a brief silence and Carter could feel sets of eyes on him. As he looked up, he made eye contact with the two people already waiting in line who had both turned towards him. “Umm, hello there,” Carter said, trying to placate the awkwardness.

A man who appeared to be in his seventies spoke up first. He immediately took off his ball cap to reveal his bald head. “Mr. Ivington, it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said as he stuck out his hand for a handshake. Feeling it would be rude to decline, Carter grabbed the man’s hand and shook it. His grip was rather weak though and the man’s grip definitely surpassed his own.

“Thank you?” Carter said, visibly perplexed by the encounter. “My last name is pronounced Iverson. You may have me confused with somebody else,” he said, trying to be polite.

The man let out a hardy laugh and briefly made eye contact with his wife before returning to meet Carter’s gaze. “You are quite the comedian too, sir.”

Carter was bewildered. How had they known his name? He turned to Jackson and Liam who looked just as confused as he did.

The man’s wife joined in. “We really do appreciate all of the good you do for our community. It’s elected officials like you that keep us hopeful for the future.” The couple beamed with joy as they stared at Carter who began to feel sweat forming on his forehead as his face reddened.

“It’s my pleasure,” Carter replied, his voice really accentuating the word ‘pleasure.’ It was like he was trying to sound tougher through his inflection. He itched the back of his head, unsure of what else to say as they all waited in a silence that seemed like forever.

“Please go ahead in front of us,” the old man said while gesturing to the now open funnel cake stand.

“No, I couldn’t,” Carter said, now more confused. He felt a ripple emanate from his stomach that shook his whole body as he spoke. It was so strong that he could feel his clothing vibrate. Maintaining his balance, he spoke with a new firm and somewhat gruff inflection. “I insist. You guys were here first and I’ve got nowhere else to be at the moment.”

“Okay sir, thank you very much.” the woman responded kindly as she turned away. “What a polite man, isn’t he Randy?” The two of them walked up to the counter leaving the three boys to gather their thoughts.

“What the hell was that?” Carter whispered quietly to his friends.

“I don’t know,” Liam whispered back, “Do you know them?”

“Hell no. I’ve never seen them in my life.” Carter said while pulling on his shirt to air it out.

“Dude, then how did they know your name?” Jackson asked.

“I have no clue,” Carter said, his irritation switching to vexation.

“Next!” the cashier called and the trio walked up to the stand.

“Hi, yes I’d like a funnel cake with cinnamon sugar,” Carter said. That was weird, his voice sounded a little lower than usual. He must have something caught in his throat. Opening up his wallet, he found that it was completely empty, save for a shiny-looking credit card he had never seen before. He dug around his pockets, only to find nothing else. Out of options, he gave her the mysterious card which she ran through the machine and promptly returned.

“Oh, ok coming right up,” she said, a twinge of intimidation present in her voice. Carter could sense it and felt sympathetic. He may not be the friendliest looking kid, but he wasn’t mean or anything. Another worker quickly attended to Jackson and Liam as Carter stepped aside to the receiving window. The pressure in his foot had spread to the other somehow and he felt it as he walked. When he glanced down, Carter froze in place as somehow the fanciest pair of shoes were now encompassing his feet. They were black and very shiny, much nicer than he would ever wear or could afford.

“Whoa, nice shoes,” Jackson said, stepping next to Carter.

“These shoes are not mine, dude!”

“Then what are they doing on your feet then, smart guy?” Jackson retorted snarkily.

“I...I don’t know,” Carter said, almost defeated as there was no logical answer.

“One funnel cake with cinnamon sugar!” a second female attendant from within the funnel cake stand bellowed.

Carter excitedly hobbled over, trying to adjust to his new shoes. With each little step, he felt like he was getting the hang of it. A black heel pushed out from the bottom of his shoe as he grabbed his food, boosting his height a little. “Thank you,” Carter said, flashing a smile.

The attendant was overjoyed. “Of course Mr. Ivington. We appreciate your business very much, sir!”

Carter rolled his eyes. “My last name is pronounced Iverson,” he said in an assertive and lower tone.

The attendant ignored his statement. Her jubilation only increased. “I just wanted to say, thank you for pushing for worker’s unions, sir. I can’t tell you how much your policies are changing me and my family’s lives.” Carter could see her getting emotional. She choked a little bit. “Thank you again.”

After seeing the adoration in her eyes, Carter felt the urge to elevate her emotions somehow. “Well, it’s seeing the gratitude from people like you that makes it all worthwhile.” Christ, that was cheesy. The woman, however, was clearly moved. He decided to add an earnest compliment. “You guys make the best funnel cake in the whole country though.” He added a sly wink, which he grimaced at how corny that was when he turned around.

As he waited for Liam and Jackson to get their food, Carter could feel eyes on him still. He fished through his pocket for his phone and pulled it out. However, when he did, he had a painstaking epiphany. He wasn’t good with technology. Smartphones were too complicated these days, or so he remembered. For some reason, he remembered being able to use it well, but he had another memory that he only used it to contact the important people in his life and look up information on occasion. Then, he looked more intently at the hand holding the phone, which now threatened to dwarf it entirely. Subconsciously placing the phone back in his pocket, he studied his hands, noticing deeper marks on his palms. His sharply manicured nails did not match his recollection of having a bothersome nail-biting habit. Even the patches of hair above his knuckles were more prominent, with light black hair much different than his brown color.

Carter snapped out of his reverie when he heard Liam’s voice. “Alright, let’s sit down,” Liam said, he and Jackson now holding paper plates full of mini donuts. Saying nothing, Carter followed them. With each step, he could feel his belly growing and straining his black t-shirt as it extended further outward. Simultaneously, he swore he could feel his butt subtly enlarging. He could also feel his thighs pushing against his shorts more, almost like his legs had expanded in unison, but that was a crazy thought.

The two were about to sit down at an empty picnic table when Carter looked around at all the people staring at him, their gazes so much more intense now than ever before. “Do you guys wanna eat somewhere...more secluded?” he asked.

“Yeah sure,” the two replied, completely unfazed.

“There’s an empty table by those trees in the corner over there,” Jackson said as the three promptly headed over.

Carter felt a pulse vibrate throughout his whole body and realized he was now staring at the top of Jackson’s and Liam’s heads. That couldn’t be right, wasn’t he the shortest out of all of them? “How tall am I?” he asked the two boys.

“6’3” they both responded in unison.

“I..I thought I was 5’8..” Carter said quizzically.

“Nah dude, you’ve always been the tallest.”

Maneuvering to the corner of the eating area, the three boys sat down at the most desolate table. As Carter sat down, he unintentionally let out a groan. His shorts began to pinch his extremities and he promptly loosened the string to give himself some breathing room. Much to his surprise, his belly pushed against his shorts the second he did so, now on full display underneath the picnic table. He was grateful the other boys couldn’t see it, but it would certainly be a problem when he stood back up. However, the enchanting smell of the funnel cake crawled up his nostrils and caused his mouth to water. Like his friends, he wasted no time in devouring their unhealthy treats. As he chewed, he could feel his shorts stretching down the length of his legs until they reached the tops of his loafers. Below, his white socks dyed themselves black as the color of his pants melded from grey to a royal blue. Within the pants, his legs began to bulk up, his thighs intensely pushing against the fabric. His calves also pressed against the back of his pants, giving the young man a strong lower body.

Carter accidentally bumped into the table when he felt his glutes expand. If one were watching from behind, they could watch his butt gradually go from flat to gargantuan. His haunches pressed against the pockets of his suit pants which in turn, gradually enlarged to encompass his new massive and muscular butt. Subconsciously, he became obsessed with the feeling of dress pants wrapped around his legs. For some reason, they were all he could remember wearing. He would wear them everywhere, to school, to work, and sometimes at home, he was pretty sure.

Finishing their food, the three boys wiped their faces down with their napkins. “Now that was amazing,” Liam said.

“Best food in the whole fair,” Carter said, his already lowered voice deepening moreso. Now, it sounded like it belonged to some macho man. “Ugh, I feel so full,” Carter said as he scratched his exposed stomach, thinking nothing of it. The other boys picked up their plates and started walking to the garbage. As Carter stood up, he felt extremely bottom-heavy and he nearly toppled to the ground. As a quick remedy to that dilemma, his stomach burst forth from his frayed black t-shirt in one swift motion, now leaving him one hundred pounds heavier. Instinctively holding it in his hands, Carter felt a new wave of energy pulsate through him. His belly had always been large, hadn’t it? With a gut this size, he had to get all of his shirts custom-made, which only made his belly more distinguishable. His 5xl shirts were always stretched taut around his ball gut, which was a perfect mix of muscle and fat. He mindlessly caressed it, savoring the tingling sensation. Additionally, a layer of straggly black hairs had manifested themselves on his torso. The sea of black hairs started around his belly button and rose across his fatty midsection to his slender pecs, coating his entire stomach and pecs in a thick and impossible to ignore layer. His huge stomach would also be impossible to ignore.

Snapping from his trance, Carter hobbled over to the garbage can with much less mobility than his friends. As he did, his black shirt stretched across his stomach, now fully clothing it. However, that did very little to decrease its presence.

“Whoa, are those suspenders?” Jackson asked as he tossed his plate down the chute.

Glancing down, Carter was surprised to see a pair of brown suspenders stretching down from each shoulder.

“Since when do you wear suspenders, Carter?” Liam asked. “I’ve never seen anyone wear suspenders besides my grandpa.”

“Oh, well…” Carter trailed off momentarily. ‘I think they look nice, dashing even.”

“Very dashing indeed,” Jackson mimicked, lowering his voice to sound like his friend’s.

“My voice doesn’t sound like...that,” Carter replied before widening his eyes in shock as his voice dropped an entire octave. This caused the other boys to laugh hysterically. “It’s not funny,” Carter said defensively, but that phrase certainly sounded comical coming from his baritone register.

“We should do some of those carnival games while we’re here,” Jackson said, immediately jumping to a new subject. The young men agreed and they headed back to the busy thoroughfare of people, the wall of sound their voices generated growing closer and closer. For some reason, that sound felt customary for Carter, like he was used to being in large crowds all the time. But that couldn’t be true, he hated large crowds and it seemed like a nightmare to try to mingle with strangers.

“Come on dude,” Liam called to Carter who was trudging behind, his larger frame making him much more lethargic and cumbersome.

Carter didn’t even respond. Instead, he fixated on the wall of sound he was about to be in the presence of. Adrenaline shot through his veins, giving him a sense of invigoration and he sped up his awkward gait as best he could. If strangers recognized him again, that would be okay. Talking to people and making smalltalk was always nice, he justified.

Shirt’s rather tight, he thought to himself as he walked out behind his friends, assimilating into the mass of people. He looked down, expecting to see a sable color, but was instead met with a grey cotton shirt with a faint line down the middle of it.

“Which carnival game should we do first?” asked Liam as Carter slowly caught up to the other boys who had slowed their walking for him.

“Shit, I don’t know,” Jackson said indecisively, looking around at the line of stands. “Which one are you thinkin Carter?”

Carter tried to focus on his friends, but his eyes wandered through the crowd of people surrounding him and slowly but surely, he could see many of them start to look his way. A temporary wave of fright enveloped him as he could hear the conversations around him die down.

Liam pointed to a line of skee-ball machines. “I’m killer at skee-ball,” he said excitedly.

Jackson laughed, “Alright, let’s do it.”

Carter sighed. Skee-ball seemed trivial but it would certainly help him take his mind off of things. He reached in his pocket to grab a quarter, but only found his wallet. He was about to ask for one when Jackson handed him one. “Thank you, young man,” Carter said as he took it.

“What? Dude, we’re the same age,” he said, wrinkling his nose in confusion.

“Oh yeah, uh, nevermind.” Putting the coin in the slot, Carter watched a row of balls roll into the rack. Bending over to pick one up, he felt his belly and ass expand slightly larger in unison. He was just about to throw a ball when a tremendous ripping sound caught his attention. To his surprise, both of his biceps had burst the sleeves of his t-shirt, some fabric fluttered to the ground while the frayed remnants remained. “Whoa,” Carter said in awe. Placing the ball back down, he squeezed one of his biceps and felt solid muscle. “Holy shit,” he said, his baritone voice making it impossible to be discreet. Studying his muscle further, he could see faint black hairs, like the ones on his gut. Then in an instant, the fragments of his shirt generated more fabric, quickly descending past his elbows. Mesmerized, Carter watched as French cuffs materialized around his wrists, gifting him a long-sleeved dress shirt.

“Dude, your butt is huge,” Jackson said. The kid was always a straight shooter.

Carter was taken aback. “Well, that’s not a very dignified thing to say is it?”

“Sorry you just look so big.”

“Well a leader of any sort has to be big,” Carter said. The comment had thrown Carter off and he remembered he wanted to show his friends his new fancy shirt. “Guys, check out this new-”

“Excuse me, I’m looking for Carter Ivington,” came a low-pitched man’s voice.

“That’s me,” Carter replied instinctively, not thinking to correct the error. Turning around to face the stranger, he could see he was one of two mysterious-looking men dressed adorned in suave black tuxedos and black sunglasses. He had a strange moment of pride when he saw them. Although their stoic faces and brawny bodies appeared domineering, Carter realized he was just about as burly as them, at least in width from his massive gut. He remembered their names immediately too: Security Administrators Roger Scully and Percy O’Toole. Scully was stoic and wide and O’Toole was leaner and more talkative. Carter laughed, the man even kinda looked like a tool.

“We have your mother on the phone, sir. She needs to speak with you right now,” O’Toole said, holding out his phone.

“Oh really?” Carter asked, genuinely concerned. Unseen to him, a collar flowered into fruition around his neck and with it came a cobalt-colored tie that unravelled to his midsection.

“Yes, sorry sir, but it is urgent.” Sir. Carter loved the sound of that word.

“Excuse me...” Carter said to his friends of whom he couldn’t remember their names. His vocal uncertainty was clearly audible.

“Jackson Miller,” Jackson said with a huge smile, extending out his hand for a handshake. Thinking nothing of it, Carter quickly obliged.

“Liam Pierce,” Liam said, doing the same. “Thank you sir,” he added. Butterflies roared in Carter’s stomach, there was that wonderful word again.

“You two young men were a pleasure to meet. Do take care.” Carter heard the words escape his lips and they seemed scripted, like he had said it a hundred times before, but he did mean it. There was a piece of his brain telling him that he knew these two boys, but there was a conflicting aura of compelling familiarity about Scully and O’Toole that overpowered him in the moment. He felt a twinge of trepidation, but then he remembered he had their phone numbers and they could always meet up later. As the two men led Carter away, Jackson and Liam could only stare in awe before going back to skee-ball.

“What’s up with my mom?” Carter asked in concern to O’Toole.

“Merely a diversionary tactic, I just needed to get your attention to brief you on your speech later today.”

“Speech?” Carter asked, flabbergasted.

“Yes, your speech at five o’clock,” O’Toole replied with intimidating conviction.

“Oh, right,” Carter replied, pretending to know what he meant. As he flounced uncomfortably in his dress pants, he ran his hands down the fabric that housed his burly gut and a strange sense of pride washed over him. He was proud to be huge. His grey dress shirt was also looking much lighter, it must be a trick of the sunlight. As the larger man walked with his entourage, he could feel eyes on him and he swore he could hear his full name being uttered more and more. Tensing up, he evaded their eye contact and stared at the ground.

“I know you’re worried about giving your speech today, but I assure you things will go perfectly, like they have many times before,” O’Toole said with shrewd mental precision.

Carter hated when people told him how to feel. He wanted to be a confident young man and he hoped that his future speech would instill that within him. However, that thought was a little frightening; he hadn’t ever given a speech except for the few in high school. He was lost in thought adjusting his collar when he heard a loud POP! “Ooh,” he exhaled unintentionally. There was a new soreness in his shoulders and rolled them backward. Muscle plumped out of them and it quickly strained the fabric of his shirt, which had stretched to contain the growing mass. Carter recoiled his head at his shoulders; they reminded him of the shoulder-pads that football players wear. There was some connection there. With so many people looking at him and smiling or waving, he felt like a goofy-looking gameshow host wearing dorky shoulder-pads as he walked, but at least his clothes looked nice.

The added girth messed with Carter’s ego. It wasn’t like he wanted people to stare at him, but he was such a physically large presence that it would be hard not to draw glances. His remaining vestiges of his nervousness dwindled away as he donned a big and earnest smile, now waving kindly back to the crowd of people who had parted to either sides of the path to let him through. Carter slowed his walk as to get closer to some people to talk to. O’Toole and Scully were vigilant and quickly intervened.

“Come on sir, there will be time to talk to people later,” O’Toole said, placing a hand on Carter’s broad back, trying to guide him forward.

“Okay,” Carter said, initially resisting the urge to walk back to his normal path then eventually conceding. If he was going to be recognized like this, he wanted more conversation with locals to make him personable and likeable.

O’Toole spoke again, his tone unwavering and direct. “We need to get you to the stage for your speech. The seats are just starting to fill up. Is there anything you need before the fundraiser, sir?”

Carter’s top shirt button burst before he could answer. The object went flying forward, revealing a peek of his pectorals which had widened ever so slightly to cause the flying button. Smiling wider than ever before, Carter started the habit of slightly walking forward his chest. “No, siree,” his voice radiating imbued confidence, “I am all ready to go.” His stride became saturated with an abundance of swagger and poise, reforming the young man’s natural bounce into a more rigid walking style. Carter knew he was an older man, but he couldn’t recall what year he was born. Oh well, he was always eager to move onto the next thing. It was a downfall of having a lot on your plate as a public figure.

A second button popped when he saw the stage. Carter ignored it and focused on looking people in the eye as he walked by. Coming closer to the stage, he could see that there was now an abundance of security guards surrounding it, at least twenty or so. They certainly hadn’t been there before. Carter was glad they all dressed the same, he certainly didn’t want to see Mr. Paulson. The guards opened up a makeshift crowd-control steel barricade and let the trio pass through before closing it.

The people sounded loud as hell as he stepped closer to the stage. Then he saw the steps where he had been before. He hesitated to traverse them, but then realized that this was far from his first time on a stage like this. Subconsciously, Carter ran his hand across the smooth fabric of his white dress shirt. He wanted to be stupidly brave and jump onto the stage and start talking, but there was still a morsel of lingering dread. “So, this speech thing...am I great at them? I mean, I have trouble even talking to strangers. How will I-”

“Addington, your speeches are amazing,” came a gravelly voice. Carter Addington’s eyes widened as he realized it was his guard Scully. He had not expected the voice to come out of such a broad man to sound like it belonged to a chronic chainsmoker. “It’s you and your team that make me want to remain invested in politics. Man, it’s your courage and your desire to make everyone’s voice heard that keep me in the goddam game. Even if the world seems like it’s ending, you find a way to bring people together. You unite us all and you fight for the rights of the marginalized and those less privileged and you are the one to enforce an equal country for all.”

“Wow,” Carter said, still hearing the man’s speech reverberate through his brain. The words were sticking to his synapses like glue and the notions they withheld began to permanently etch themselves into his personality. He could recall hundreds of speeches he gave, powerful ones, motivational ones. Ones about the tragedies of war or greed or broken families, but he always found a way to find some light at the end of the dark tunnel by focusing on the thing he valued the most in his country: unity. Carter stuck out his hand and firmly shook hands with Scully. “Thank you,” he said solemnly.

Subconsciously, he straightened his blue tie while he could hear an announcer’s voice radiate through the speakers, unaware that that the buttons below it had rematerialized. His shirt had even expanded just the slightest bit more to accommodate for his extra girth. While he listened, a navy blue suit jacket materialized over his dress shirt. His tie neatly tucked itself in and the new coat added an unshakable level of dignity. He straightened the resplendent-looking jacket, proud of its authentic and spotless Italian wool.

A man with a headset ran up to Carter, holding out his right arm in anticipation to point. Carter knew this was the moment, his moment. He could say something profound and inspirational. He would emanate the profound sense of order he felt within. The announcer’s voice dissipated and the man with the headset gestured to the stage and Carter hobbled past him. As he stepped into the opening, his fears were realized. The crowd was stuffed full with people to the point where he could barely make out the faces of the wall of people. Carter began to breathe heavier from a combination of stress and his larger stature.

Glancing forward, he was met with a line of podiums, four of them were occupied by other people, all nicely dressed up, with the one closest to him was vacant. The politicians all had broad smiles that Carter couldn’t help but do the same despite the fact that he couldn’t think straight. Wasn’t he just some kid? Regardless, he made his way to the empty podium centerstage, his perky ass gyrating hypnotically in his suit pants. He was the largest man on stage by far and the applause was almost deafening. At his size, he didn’t mind being big, he just hated how warm he became in these stuffy clothes.

Carter instinctively spoke from his gut and he winced as he heard his own baritone voice booming through the loudspeakers. “Greetings, my name is Gerald Addington.” Wait, that wasn’t right. A look of trepidation crossed the broad man’s face until he was quickly distracted when a bushy mustache suddenly burst into fruition above his lips, immediately adding an aura of maturity to his youthful face. He continued, “I am here today to give back to the comm...unity..” His voice trembled on the last word. Yet in direct contrast, he could feel his cock press against his pants hearing his deep voice radiate through the crowd. “I think we..should..give...back to the ed...u..cation system..” he said, desperately trying to keep it together as he could feel heat emanating from every pore in his body. Bright flashes of light exploded from below accompanied by the sound of camera shutters, forcing Carter to avert his gaze towards the middle of the crowd.

Absent-mindedly, the sweaty and perplexed man adjusted his lengthening dick to avoid the constraining feeling he had in his underwear. Why on earth was he talking about the education system? He had just left high school and abhorred the idea of higher learning. “Our schools n..need to be..bigger.” In unison with the last word, Carter’s chest burst forth leaving him was a massive lifter’s gut and two meaty pecs that pressed tightly against his dress shirt. “I value our children’s futures so greatly. And I want them to have good...good role m..models growing up.” Some members of the crowd began cheering and clapping, giving Carter a momentary reverie to breathe. He could feel his immense body swelling to the rhythm of his breaths as he remained rapt as a speaker. There was something so empowering about talking on stages and hearing the reactions of people. There was also something so intoxicating about dressing up all the time. The only deterrent was that his larger, ample body perspired considerably.

The applause died down and Carter began again, now refusing to let his voice waver. “Some of the most crucial moments in my life were given to me from my education. From my football career to my journey towards getting a degree in political science, I learned that no task is insurmountable when one is driven and when one is educated.” Carter blinked as he could feel history rewriting itself. He could remember playing football through high school and college as a studly young man. And now in the walls of his old schools, there were plaques and posters with his name on it, depicting his face, and his immense body. It must’ve been decades ago.

Bringing a hand to his face, Carter relished the new sensation of it becoming numb and his jawbone widening. Subconsciously, he flexed his arm, feeling them expand even more and press against the seams of his dress shirt. They were 19.5 inches around if he remembered correctly. “Education transformed me,” he groaned. In response, his brown bushy mustache quickly turned itself white, looking extremely out of place on Carter’s youthful face.

Unfazed, he continued. “Education radically improved my children’s lives and it goes on to improve my grandchildren’s lives.” Carter paused. He was not a father, nor a grandfather for that matter. Yet an image pierced his brain of he and his two kids and three grandkids all together outside a lakehouse with the gorgeous forest in the background. He always kept that picture in his wallet. He loved the way his..wife looked. “It’s clear that our nation needs equal access to education because whenever I talk to the people, I encounter story after story of heroic and selfless people who want to believe in the system. And it is my duty as a ssss..senator, to..help.” Carter became sidetracked. His cock was throbbing and was now twice as long as before. He was so hard it was starting to hurt.

“My g..grandson told me he wants to be a doctor, and I said ‘that’s great’ because people get hurt and we need a team of heroes who will help.” Wrinkles etched themselves into Carter’s face as he spoke. His eyesight became blurry for a brief moment until a sharp pair of titanium glasses materialized above his nose. Darker circles and crow’s feet surrounded his eyes.“My granddaughter wants to be an artist and I said ‘that’s great’ because the world needs more artists to document the dichotomies of our culture.” Memories of his grandkids Kyle, Louise, and Joyce running at his feet popped in the sweaty man’s brain. His own children, Thomas and Jenny, were in their thirties now and had each started their own families. “Any vocation a kid strives to accomplish, it is our job as elected officials to instill policies to make it as easy as possible for them to thrive.” Like falling sparks, follicles of hair sprinkled past Carter’s face before disappearing entirely, leaving the man with a widow’s peak and receding hairline.

“Creating an environment that encourages critical thinking and connections to school is something desperately needed in middle schools and high schools. Kids need to learn that their voices matter and that it is truly up to them to uphold an honorable future for the world.” Carter’s belly shook as he spoke and his face started to sag, resulting in a more fatty neck and chin. His lips also plumpened, their alluringly faint red color complementing his snow-white mustache. He could picture he and his wife, all these years later, still holding each other close every night. She always liked to run her fingers across his huge gut and he loved the smell of her hair. Lisa Addington was her name and she changed his life forever. Carter felt like he was going to explode as he could picture her face and the decades of love the pair had endured, having been married since their late twenties.

Then, his brain went to static for a moment when he saw her, now walking towards him onstage with a massive check in both her hands. Her brunette hair had a few streaks of grey in it and her demure smile sent shivers down his spine and revitalized him. “That is why I, on behalf of the Addington Foundation, wish to donate two million dollars the Board of Education of the state. This money will go directly to provide programs in elementary, middle, and high schools to increase quality and diversity of curriculums, increase the salaries of teachers, and support extracurricular programs.”

The remnants of the man’s hair were now a thin white crown and he grimaced as his nose grew plump in one fluid pulse. Carter was ready to become Gerald. His weathered face showed that he was a man who had spent decades in office, constantly working with the public. Sure, he made a lot of money, but that’s why he tried to do charity events such as this to prove that he was forever a man of the community. He wrapped his arm around his lovely wife and she placed a hand against his chest. “Thank you Springwater Fair and thank you to all those in the education system, may we all work together to maintain an education system we can be proud of!”

The roar of the audience shook any composure Carter had left out of him. He finally took a moment to look down at his dapper suit, perfectly tailored to house his gigantic and often cumbersome body. He wouldn’t have it any other way. Closing his eyes, the nameless man rubbed his cock behind the podium for a few moments before he could feel the climax coming. Promptly, he pulled his head away from the microphone and moaned. The pleasure surmounted all others. It was the hardest he had ever cum in his whole life and it felt like heaven. His eyelids fluttered a bit as he savored every ounce of the hot and sweet sensation.

When Senator Gerald Addington reopened his eyes, he expected to see a pool of cum visible through his suit pants, but to his surprise, it was completely dry. Bewildered, the sixty-one year old checked the frontside of his massive body while he pressed his hands against the suit to get out any unsightly creases. Any sweat or unsightly residue had evaporated like it had never happened. Gerald then looked to the audience and waved, like he always did after speeches. Opening his mouth to smile revealed a set of top and bottom veneers, both perfectly whitened and straightened. He was a beacon to men everywhere and he vowed to be the change in the world he wanted to see.

His stomach and butt shook in unison as he walked offstage. A group of sponsors followed just behind he and his wife. Gerald joked sarcastically to Lisa, placing his hand on her shoulder as they walked down the stage steps. “Great, now it’ll be time to sign off on all the paperwork.”

“Just be grateful we have an accountant son who doesn’t mind the extra work,” Lisa replied.

“Thomas would do accounting all day if he didn’t have a family of his own,” Gerald joked, resting his hand on his massive gut for a second. He remembered that he would have to hit the gym later tonight. Sure, he couldn’t lift as much as he used to, but he still maintained quite an impressive physique. He was thinking about lifting with his muscular son Thomas who he had trained since his teens. Now, the man was an accountant and had a little family of his own. “I can’t wait to see the whole family again this weekend,” Gerald added excitedly.

“Already jumping to a new thing, can’t you just stay in the moment?” Lisa asked. Her lips looked so tender and even all these decades later, he could still see youth in her playful expressions. The two of them had definitely maintained their physiques even into their sixties. Gerald reminisced about all the good times they had, their many vacations and their many sexual experiences. She didn’t even mind his occasional experiences with men, only emphasizing the importance of communicating about it. Their bond had grown as tight as ever during the four decades they’d been married. Nothing could ever wreck the devotion they had for one another.

Gerald laughed. “I am, I’m just proactive, you know that? I’ve always gotta think-”

“Three steps ahead, honey, I know.”

The Addingtons walked down the backstage steps and towards a group of security guards who lead them to a black limousine. “Great speech today sir,” Security Administrator Scully said.

Gerald smiled. “Thank you,” he replied courteously. As Lisa and him stepped into the limousine, they could still hear the faint roar of the crowd until they shut the doors. Senator Addington couldn’t help but feel nostalgic. Even though his decades-long period of time in the office was coming to an end, he couldn’t help but feel proud for all the policies he helped enact and all of the good he helped put back into the state. A man of humility and courage, Gerald Addington was a man with an infectious smile who prided himself in his maturity, his kind demeanor, his legacy, and of course, his immense body.

#muscle growth #bear #age progression #grandfather #sartorial #weight gain #reality change #mental change #senator #suit #muscle bear #transformation #muscle gut #muscle #hirsute #visceral-stories

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