salmonskinrolltf

[salmonskinrolltf]

I’m an 19 year old jock, brown hair, brown eyes. Could you send a copy of the Dukes of Hazzard Seasons? I really like Bo Duke from the show. Something about his himbo redneck charm just makes me fall for him.

Your Be Kind Rewind tape and die have arrived! You roll the die because the web site said you should, but when you roll a 1, nothing happens. You shrug and pop the Dukes of Hazzard tape into your VCR, hitting rewind so you can make sure to catch every moment from the beginning.

As the tape begins to rewind, you think about how you always kinda thought it made more sense for Bo to be gay, or at least bi. He certainly always seemed to prefer the company of Luke to any of the women in his life. You figured he needed a wild, rough-and-tumble redneck guy who could show up in his life and shake him out of his heteronormative upbringing, show him how different it can be to have a little fun with another willing guy.

Unfortunately, that someone can’t be you. Bo’s not real, first of all. But more importantly, you’re too much of a clean-cut jock for that. You think back to your latest game, and how great the uniforms made the asses of the other players look. Especially that one guy - what was his name? you can’t remember - when he was going to make a… basket? Field goal? What sport do you play again? You shake your head as your memories go fuzzy like an old television that needs adjusting.

You decide to reboot your memory by tracking back to the most recent thing you remember and working your way back to the present from there. You cycle through the fuzzy colors and blurry shapes until you hit on something. Siphoning gas from the sheriff’s tank so you could go on a joy ride. Now that memory is very clear, thankfully. What did you do after that?

As you ponder, you feel a tickling on the back of your neck as your hair grows, slithering down in a greasy tangle. The tickling hits your shoulders, and then your mid-back. You shake your head and your mullet flutters against your back. God, you love that feeling. It was hard-earned, too, it took you years to grow all that shit out.

The next memory falls into place. Going mudding with some of your cousins the day after your joy ride. What a good time! You shake your head again and the tickling transfers to the front of your face as a greasy brown beard drapes from your sideburns down across to your chin, a mustache sprouting as the cherry on top of the unkempt, disheveled sundae.

You stroke your beard as you smile and remember going cow-tipping the next day. You picked the biggest cow, of course, to prove how strong you are… While you think about your prowess, your athletic muscles actually shrink down a bit, leaving you with skinny arms and a slim torso where your ribs are in plain sight.

Getting hot, you remove your shirt and stuff it in your back pocket. Your memories are finally traced back to the game you were trying to remember… That game of darts you were playing at the local bar the other night. God, Buck’s arms looked so daggum delicious in that sleeveless denim shirt. You scratch your chest and light brown hair swirls in a spiral pattern from around your nipples, eventually spreading across your entire torso.

And that last memory brings you back to the present… what was it you were doing right now? You were getting ready to watch something, right? It was a… A… You wanted to watch the sunset from Makeout Point, yeah that’s what it was. But you didn’t want to go alone, which is why you parked your truck here by the local bar. You look around to see a serene roadside bar, the trees gently swaying in the humid breeze. You wipe sweat from your forehead, glad you already took your shirt off so you aren’t feeling too overheated. It’s been a loooooong, hot summer.

Suddenly the squeal of tires distracts you from your reverie. A slick car pulls up and out climbs the most handsome blond guy you’ve ever seen in your life.

You chuckle to yourself. This guy is a hunk of all-American beef, but you can see a little sugar in ‘im. You know he’d be willing to experiment if a stud like you showed him the ropes. He wouldn’t be able to resist your sexual magnetism. You spit on the ground, then whistle, catching his attention. He looks over at you and you wink. “What’s your name, pardner?” you ask.

#redneck #Be Kind Rewind #Roll the Die #mullet

[salmonskinrolltf]

hey there these video tapes sound pretty far out. The thing is, I’m this awkward, average looking gay dude who is slowly approaching a mid life crisis. I work as a math teacher at a local community college. And my days are filled with teaching students and my nights are spent wondering what I did with my life. Anyways, I really wanted to watch the Neighbors movie with Zac Efron. I’ve had the biggest crush on his obnoxious frat boy character! I mean that body is insane!

You eagerly tear open your Be Kind Rewind package and pull out the Neighbors VHS, barely noticing the die that falls into your hand. Nor do you notice your subconscious decision to toss it onto the floor, rolling a 3 in the process. As you place the tape in the VCR (has that always been there?), you hit rewind so it can play from the beginning.

You can’t wait to vicariously live the frat boy life you missed out on, even if it’s filtered through the perspectives of Seth Rogen and Rose Byrne as annoyed adults in their mid-30s, which hits much closer to home than you want it to. Excitement swells in your chest to the point that you feel almost giddy. You need to calm down a bit, so you take a swig of the beer you don’t remember putting on the table in front of you. Not on a coaster, even. That’s so unlike you…

As soon as the frothy beverage passes your lips, you feel a sense of calm dullness washing over you. You run a hand through your hair, which seems straighter and less tangled than usual.

As you take another sip, your phone pings with an email from a student asking about a particularly tough problem you presented during your lecture that day. You look up and see that the movie is still rewinding, so you suppose you have time to answer. But as soon as you open the email to explain the answer, the numbers start swimming in front of your eyes. The 3 should go… where again? And why the hell are there so many letters in there? This is math. Math is numbers, right?

Fuck, this is too frustrating. You toss your phone to the other end of the couch and chug the rest of your beer. You suddenly need to piss like a racehorse, so you head to the bathroom. Once you’re done, the dull buzzing in your head prevents you from even considering washing your hands, but you do stop by the sink when you see your reflection in the mirror.

Holy shit. Your face is, like, morphing or something. Your eyebrows thicken, your nose elongates, your jaw cracks and broadens. You feel a squirming feeling under your shirt and you tear it off, watching as muscle blossoms from beneath your skin. Any excess weight sloughing off, just like every last bit of body hair, leaving you with a taut and smooth torso. A brief flash of pain accompanies a tattoo that appears on your newly built pec.

You try to summon a feeling of shock, but you just… can’t. That dull buzzing is even stronger now. And you look too good, dude! You admire yourself in the mirror, not noticing as the bathroom furnishings change behind you.

You step out of the bathroom into the foyer of a house you no longer recognize. Well, you almost recognize it, but it’s definitely not YOUR house. You might have been able to put your finger on where you are, but something distracts you. A shirtless Zac Efron is standing in front of you with his shirt unbuttoned and a finger to his lips.

Is this… Are your fantasies coming to life? But in your fantasies, he’d be kissing you by now. He wouldn’t be giving you the shooing motion he’s currently doing. Za- Wait, what was his name? Zaccy? Zaddy? Teddy. Yeah, Teddy. Teddy whispers to you. “Get out of the way man, I’m pranking the new pledge.” You comply, your thoughts still hazy.

Your thoughts remain that way for the rest of the night. And for the rest of the week. And the rest of the month. But despite the constant dull roar, you put a few things together. You’re Pete Regazolli, proud vice-president of Delta Psi Beta. If you weren’t always this way, you don’t care to think about it. You’re still got a massive crush on Teddy, of course. You’re gay after all, and the whole frat knows it. But even if he isn’t into guys that way, at least you still get to spend all your time with him, staring at him when he’s not looking, touching him whenever you get the chance… A chance like the one you have right now, when you’re about to pull off a huge prank on this new pledge who has no idea what’s coming… Bro, it’s gonna be so lit!

#frat #Be Kind Rewind #Roll the Die #Dumber #reality change

[salmonskinrolltf]

this is soooo embarrassing. I can’t believe I’m even typing it out. But dude, I’ve been a gaymer for as long as I remember. I’m 30 pounds too heavy. I’m 27 and living. With too many roommates in the suburbs. And well. I’ve been watching Glee lately. And I just got to the season around college and I was hoping I could rent some tapes. See, I’ve got this major crush on Darren’s character Blaine and itd be awesome to always be singing and dancing and having fun. I was never a theatre kid myself. Any chance you can help?

Almost like a miracle, right when you considered ordering a tape from Be Kind Rewind, one of your roommates got a VCR. You suppose. You’re not sure which one of them actually got it, but it’s right there, plugged into the TV in your living room, so someone must have. The only thing is, you’ve had to wait until everyone was out to use it. You double check that the door is locked and everybody is out for the evening. You’re embarrassed to be seen watching the show, but you’re embarrassed for another reason tonight, too. Because renting this tape feels like a special occasion, you’ve decided to cosplay as Blaine a little bit. Your hair is neatly slicked back and you’ve donned a cardigan and bow tie to match his put-together preppy look.

When you’re certain the coast is clear, you open the (thankfully discretely marked) package and a die rolls out into your hand. Oh yeah. The die thing. Weird. You toss it onto the coffee table and it lands on 4.

When the VCR whirs to life, you hear those a cappella credit trills that indicate whatever episode that was playing has already ended, so you jab the rewind button, humming the music quietly to yourself. You scratch your stomach and realize the fabric of your cardigan is much looser than it should be. You lift it up and see that your stomach has shrunk, flattening against your torso, which seems firmer and more lithe in general.

Stunned, you gaze at yourself in the nearest mirror, noticing how the new outfit looks even more Blaine-like after your bizarre transformation. In fact, everything is looking more Blaine-like. Your eyebrows thicken and darken, your slicked-back hair darkening along with them. As your lips plump up and your skin tans slightly, you realize you look like a total Blaine doppelganger. Your dick hardens in the thrift store pants you bought to match the overall preppy look. You look just like your crush! You’re not even questioning it, you just figure you must be dreaming or something. But even if you’re only dreaming, why let the opportunity pass you by to admire yourself more… privately?

In a daze, you wander into the bathroom. Instead of the pigsty it normally is, living with so many roommates, it looks neat and tidy. Tubs of hair gel neatly line the sides of the sink, and the mirror is decorated with playbills, a photo of Blaine and Kurt, and a bumper sticker for a local Lima, Ohio radio station. Not only do you look exactly like Blaine, you’re now in what seems to be his bathroom! You admire yourself in the mirror.

A thrill of excitement thrums through you and you unzip your pants, rubbing yourself at the thought of looking just like your crush.

As you pleasure yourself, you think about the various Glee characters you have the biggest crushes on. Could you use this VHS service to become them all? The thought makes you even more aroused. However, when Blaine returns to your mind, your dick deflates. Suddenly it feels wrong to be thinking about him. You try to cycle back through the other characters in your mind, but suddenly only the female ones come to mind. Brittany, Quinn, even Rachel. Your dick springs back to full hardness and you panic at the sudden shift in your sex drive. You shove your erection back into your pants but not before cum explodes into the sink. You hurriedly wipe it up with some toilet paper.

What the hell is going on? As you scrub, you don’t notice that the gel is slowly easing out of your hair, which curls and falls over your face in a more lackadaisical, unkempt fashion. Stubble sprouts from your cheeks, chin, and upper lip, slowly growing into a short beard. Your clothes morph from your preppy ensemble into more of a rocker vibe, your shredded T-shirt dipping into a V-neck that exposes the dark, matted chest hair that has been busy unfurling across your newly taut torso. 

Right when you flush the balled-up wad of TP, a voice interrupts your panic.

“What the hell are you doing in my bathroom?”

You turn to the doorway and see Blaine Anderson standing there. Wait, that can’t be. Weren’t you just him? You turn to look at yourself in the mirror and see a much more rugged, sloppy individual than the person you were just a moment before. You look like Blaine, but… different. Older, somehow. And more unkempt, definitely.

This intruder, on the other hand, looks exactly like Blaine. He also looks annoyed. He taps his toe and runs a hand across his impeccably coiffed hair. “This is why I asked Mom for my own bathroom, so I wouldn’t have to wait for you all the time. How is it that I use 12 hair products a day and you still take longer than I do for everything?”

You’re too shocked to say anything. You’re unsure whether you’re more shocked by the words he’s saying or the fact that Blaine is standing just feet away and you feel nothing about it whatsoever. As your brain sputters, your body kicks into autopilot and you shrug.

“The gays haven’t cornered the market on looking good just yet, little bro,” you chuckle, punching his arm as you head back out into the hallway, which now looks like one that belongs in a pristine suburban home. 

As you head back into your room, you notice that it looks entirely different. No game consoles in sight, just laundry strewn everywhere and a mini basketball hoop on the back of the doorway. You absent-mindedly toss a NERF basketball toward the hoop and it hits the rim, flying back in your direction and smacking you in the face, knocking you back onto the unkempt mattress that’s on the floor without a bed frame.

You groggily open your eyes and look around. Where the hell are you? Who the hell are you? You rack your brains. Oh yeah. David Anderson. Eldest son of one of the lamest families on the planet, smack dab in the middle of Buttfuck, Ohio. You scratch your hairy chest underneath your T-shirt and check the time.

You remember you have plans to grab some brews with the boys this evening before seeing the latest movie starring that hot actress you like, so you’d better head out quick so you can hit up the gym beforehand. You throw on your gym clothes, grab your water bottle, and rush out the door.

As you pass by your little bro’s room, you see him singing along to a Mariah Carey tune and practicing his dance moves. You roll your eyes good-naturedly. Singing and dancing aren’t for you, but you appreciate how into it he is. You figure that, for him, singing and dancing brings him the same joy that going to the gym and playing ball with your bros does for you. You leap up to smack the top of the door frame as you head outside, barely giving Blaine another thought as you walk down the street, anticipating the awesome evening ahead of you.

#roll the die #Be Kind Rewind #Gay to Straight #Chest Hair #Facial Hair #Jock

[salmonskinrolltf]

I'm an 30s average Asian live a boring office life and I want to rent Wolverine series, 1-3 would all be nice enough, cuz I love Hugh Jackman's Logan(well love Wolverine's comic version as well) so much. Pity that I may never be able to have any interaction with this character, otherwise it would be fantastic to build a close relationship with him, or even closer u u

Your Be Kind Rewind package finally arrived! You’ve been waiting for the VHS delivery all week and it’s finally here! You were unsure about it at first, because you don’t own a VCR, but the web site said you didn’t need any special equipment to play the tape. And the price point of $1 for all three Wolverine movies was just too good to pass up.

When you rip open the package, a small red six-sided die falls into your hand. Huh. Weird. You forgot that was the whole gimmick of the rental place. You wonder why. Although you’re excited to watch the movie ASAP, you feel a sudden urge to roll the die. You shrug and give it a quick roll, hardly noticing that it lands on 2 as you pull out a pristine VHS copy of The Wolverine. You don’t need to watch the movies in any order, because you’ve seen them all so many times, so you bring it over to your TV. Sure enough, a slot wide enough to fit a VHS tape is on the side of the machine, even though you could swear you’ve never seen it before. You pop in the tape and your screen crackles to life. Soft music plays over the closing credits of the movie.

You suppose the tape really is living up to the name of the company. You’re gonna have to rewind the whole tape if you actually want to watch the movie. Rolling your eyes, you hit the rewind button on your TV remote. Thankfully, it works. The screen turns blue and the tape begins whirring, but as it does so you feel an uncanny tingling throughout your body. You wonder if something weird is going on with your TV. As you approach, you feel static electricity from the front of the screen. You hold your hand out, watching the hairs on the back of your knuckles stand on end. Vaguely, in your reflection on the blue screen, you can see your hair standing on end too, largely forming into two fluffy points on either side of your head. You take your hand away and the hair doesn’t fall. The hair on your knuckles does, though.

Not only does it fall back down to your knuckles, but it seems to… roll? The hairs that have fallen begin to darken in color and give the illusion of movement as more hair sprouts from your knuckles, creating a thick carpet that begins unfurling rapidly down your forearms. You hold a hand up to your face in shock, but that just makes the hair from your knuckles spread onto your cheeks as well. Your skin tickles with pinpricks as dark hairs sprout from your face, spreading in either direction until a full, lush beard spans your entire face, except for the small spot on your chin that your hand was touching.

Your nose tickles as a mustache sprouts beneath it and you rush into the bathroom to look at yourself in the mirror. You look like you, but with crazy hair, a beard, and hairy-ass arms. You pale in shock at the sight. Actually, no. You just… pale. The skin on your face and arms leaches of color until you look totally… Canadian. Why did that thought pop into your head? You were originally going to say European, but suddenly the thought of being from anywhere other than Canada feels wrong.

Your body is suddenly wracked with pain and you double over the sink. As if they’re somehow tripling in density, your bones suddenly feel heavy. You struggle just to hold yourself up against the sink. As you strain, your veins begin to bulge. And then everything begins to bulge. Your shirt rips in two as your pecs inflate. Your stomach hardens into a set of cobblestone abs and your arms turn into corded mounds of muscle and sinew. Unbelievingly, you poke yourself in your newly firm chest. This causes a small patch of chest hair to curl out from around where you touched your - very real - muscles.

Your brain finally clicks out of panic mode and you realize you look just like Wolverine himself. You chub up a bit in your pants at the idea, but no. You can’t just emerge back into your life looking like a clone of Hugh Jackman. You need to stop this from progressing even further.

As the whirring of the VCR invades your mind, you realize your strange transformation must be related to the tape somehow. You rush toward the machine, feeling more powerful and agile than you’ve ever been before despite the newfound weight inside your body, and begin tapping frantically at the eject button.

SNIKT

With a brief rush of pain, a metal claw emerges from between your hairy knuckles, stabbing directly into the tape slot and causing an explosion that rockets you backward onto the floor. After a moment, groggy and rubbing your head, you sit up, but you’re no longer in your living room. You’re… somewhere in Japan? How the hell did you get here?

You panic and look around the room, trying to find the exit. You spot a phone and grab it, but in your haste you strain your fist again and three metal claws burst out of your skin, gouging the table. What. The. Fuck. You barely felt the pain that time, and you can see the wounds on your knuckles close up immediately after you retract your claws. Somehow the motion required to retract them just feels… natural.

After all… why wouldn’t it? You’ve watched the Wolverine mov- You’ve watched the- You’ve- Why can’t you complete that thought? Your brain fogs, and then clears. You try again. You’ve… been Wolverine for longer than most mutants have been alive, of course you know how your claws work. As if to prove this to yourself, you ball both hands into fists and let the claws break through in a display of pure, bestial power.

SNIKT

#Be Kind Rewind #Roll the Die #Wolverine #Body Hair #Facial Hair #Muscle Growth

[salmonskinrolltf]

Roll the Die 2: Be Kind Rewind

So my old Magic Die ran out of juice, but get this. Apparently I have a great-uncle who I never even knew about, and when he passed he left me his entire collection of dice and VHS tapes! The dice seem normal, but it's a really weird VHS collection. It has EVERYTHING. Like, literally. It even has movies and shows that came out after they stopped making VHS tapes. Stuff that's currently in theaters, too. And even streaming shows on Netflix and whatnot!

I decided to open up a rental shop. A stipulation in my great-uncle's will says I have to include one of the dice with each tape I send to people. I have no idea why, but I have too many, so I'm not sad to see them go! But here's where I need your help. I need to start renting tapes out online because I've run out of local customers! I had a few come in, but they never came back!

I even checked up on one of them, a guy named Justin, who lived right down the street. He'd rented that James Bond movie From Russia with Love. It turns out he had gone missing! All the police found when they searched his apartment was a half-drunk martini (which was weird, because I'm pretty sure he said he doesn't drink).

So yeah, if you want me to send you a tape, I just need some info for my customer records. Please tell me a little about yourself (age and general look/vibe is always helpful), let me know which title you want me to send, and then tell me which character in that movie/TV show you have the biggest crush on. Then I'll send the tape along with your special die! We have literally every title under the sun. Including From Russia with Love. I could have sworn I just had the one tape, but I found another one in the back just after Justin disappeared...

[Out-Of-Character Notes:

*These will be short stories tailored to whichever (18+, male) character you have a crush on. Whatever happens, you will end up in the movie/show's universe, but I will randomly roll a die to determine your ultimate fate.

Here are the possible results: 1: You will become your crush's soulmate 2: You will become your crush 3: You will become a different character in the movie/show's universe 4: You will become a family member of your crush 5: You will become an original character that fits within the movie/show's universe but doesn't know your crush at all 6: You will become your crush's anti-soulmate (nemesis, bully, etc.)

*PLEASE SUBMIT YOUR REQUESTS VIA "ASK ME ANYTHING" If you send it via a direct message, I will ask you to re-submit

*I will not be able write a story for each and every request, so if yours is not answered, I apologize in advance. I will try and write at least once a week (no promises), and no more than one story per person. I will prioritize shows and movies I am more familiar with, so feel free to submit requests for multiple titles, and I'll choose the best one for me to work with.]

[salmonskinrolltf]

Happy Hour

[with extra special thanks to @jhontfs for helping me find the best possible resolution for the final image]

Jared (right) was so happy to have found Michael (left). Both of them hated the gay scene. Too much drinking. So much sluttiness. Nobody was interested in being cultured or productive. Jared was proud of how driven he and Michael were. How else could Jared have become a Senior VP of Sales at age 28 (at his dad’s company)? And how else could Michael have risen through the ranks to become lead accountant at age 27 (at a subsidiary of Jared’s dad's company)?

Needless to say, they could afford to spend their anniversary dinner somewhere other than Buffalo Wild Wings. But they came back every year because it was where they first met, doing summer jobs so they could hustle and save up money for when they went to Ivy League colleges. They liked to return to where they met, dressed in their Brooks Brothers best, to remind themselves of how far they had come. It was fun!

Well, usually it was fun. This year they could barely hear their conversation about which opera they should buy season tickets to. A group of frat boys was getting rowdy over at the bar, excited over some sports game or other. As the couple watched, glaring, one of the drunk dudes - a brunette guy with a backwards white baseball cap from which greasy brunette sideburns were spilling - was chanting “GO! GO! GO!” at the top of his lungs. He threw his hands in the air, accidentally slopping half his beer all over himself and the counter. While the others whooped loudly, he stripped off his top, revealing his shelflike pecs and broad shoulders, using his sopping wet shirt to mop up the rest of the spill.

Jared rolled his eyes. “What a disgrace. They should be kicked out. If I was still the manager here, I'd already be on the phone with the police.”

Michael glowered over at the boisterous group. "I don't mind if they want to hang out and watch the game. But it's like we don't even exist to them. They only care about themselves, and not how they’re affecting everyone else in the room.”

Jared crossed his arms. “Because they don’t realize other people have lives. To them, nothing matters more than sports, beer, and meaningless hookups. So they don’t think they’re interrupting anything by acting like drunken apes. And nobody else seems to mind! It’s straight privilege.”

Michael furrowed his brow. “I actually think they might be from a gay frat. That one guy looks very comfortable in that other guy’s lap.”

"Even worse,” grunted Jared. “It's bad enough that so many gays waste their lives on party drugs and meaningless hookups. Why add all the sports and rowdiness on top of that? What a miserable waste of a life. Why bother being a drunken lout when you can actually contribute to society in a meaningful way?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you,” Michael grumbled, stabbing at his salad with his plastic fork.

Vowing to ignore the frat boys and carry on with their dinner, the couple picked up their conversation, deciding to look over the opera schedules for a third time and pick whichever theater was doing the most Philip Glass performances.

Jared was about to move the subject along to his favorite topic, work, when Michael fell ominously silent, his eyes locked on something behind Jared’s head.

Jared turned to see the shirtless frat boy they’d noticed earlier, stumbling in their direction and looking like he was going to throw up. Jared tucked his feet in closer to the table. No way was he going to get vomit on his loafers on his anniversary, for Pete’s sake.

Thankfully, the dude didn’t throw up. However, what he did instead was even worse. As he walked past, he stumbled, slammed his beer stein down on their table (knocking the gift-wrapped Rolex that Jared was planning to give Michael onto the floor in the process), and fell right into Michael’s lap. The guy reeked of beer. Jared wrinkled his nose. Michael just stared at the man in his lap, wide-eyed, seemingly in shock.

The frat boy took a beat to consider the situation he found himself in. He looked Michael up and down, blinked slowly, twice, then wrapped his arms around him and gave him a wet sloppy kiss, shoving his tongue halfway down Michael’s throat.

“Excuse me, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” asked Jared. The frat dude pulled away and gave him a quizzical look.

“Yeah, what are you doing, man?” said Michael. But his tone was slightly slurred and vague, as if he’d gotten secondhand drunk from the sheer amount of beer on the other man’s tongue. His eyes were still wide and glassy.

The frat boy didn’t answer. He just locked lips with Michael again. And this time, Michael kissed back. Jared could see his boyfriend’s tongue darting tentatively into the frat dude’s mouth. He was so scandalized he couldn’t speak. No words came to him, which was a first.

The frat dude grabbed Michael’s face and Michael wrapped his arms around his broad back, his kneading hands leaving fading white impressions on the frat boy’s impressive traps. When the frat boy pulled away again and removed his hands, Jared saw he’d left a brown blotch of something on Michael’s cheeks, which was smeared around the bottom of his chin. Was that… barbecue sauce?

Jared looked closer, disgusted and confused, but noticed it wasn’t sauce. It was dry. It was… stubble. But Michael never even needed to shave, he had always been perfectly smooth… Jared watched in horrified fascination as the stubble seemed to pulse, greasy brown hairs wriggling out of their follicles, becoming longer and longer until they formed a dense line like a brunette shadow along the bottom of his boyfriend’s jaw. The hair carpeted his face like moss, totally wrecking the neat, preppy visage he otherwise displayed to the world and clashing horribly with his darker, slicked-back hair.

The frat dude paused his makeout session to lick along the trail of thick hairs, his tongue rustling against them, causing Michael to moan. Jared had heard his boyfriend moan before. Countless times. But this time, Michael’s voice sounded deeper. It reverberated in Jared’s head, causing him to lose focus for a second.

When his vision clicked back into place, he saw Michael’s hair also doing something that should have been impossible. Like a time-lapse video, the neat cut had begun to sprout, hairs breaking free from their slicked-back prison and flying out in every direction. His corporate undercut was slowly subsumed as the hairs on the back and sides of his head surged outward like an untended lawn filling with weeds.

The frat boy ran a hand through Michael’s lengthening hair as they kept kissing like a pair of wrestling pythons, leaving the hair greasier and messier than it had been before. It looked matted with sweat, like he’d just run a mile. Suddenly, as if they had flopped down from being strapped on either side of his head, two fluffy, greasy sideburns fell past Michael’s ears, connecting his chinstrap - and that’s what it was, Jared realized; a full, douchey-as-hell chinstrap beard - to the rest of his unkempt ‘do. As soon the connection was made, the dark color leached out of the rest of Michael’s head, leaving him with a tangled mop of brunette hair.

Seeing his boyfriend’s neatly styled hair dissolve into chaos in front of him was too much for Jared to take. The thing he loved most about Michael was how much he cared about his appearance. Neither of them could abide untidiness, but now his boyfriend looked like he’d been living in a cave for months. He made a move to grab Michael’s arm so he could drag his boyfriend away from whatever was happening, but he paused when he heard Michael speak in a rumbling bass, the words slurred and dull.

“Fuck, dude, you’re so fucking hot.”

Suddenly Michael’s arm was moved out of grabbing range as it vanished beneath the table, seemingly rubbing the frat boy’s growing bulge. OK, that did it. Whether it was the out-of-character cursing or the outright disrespect that did it, Jared’s haze of confusion cleared and he stood up.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Michael?” he spat.

Michael ignored him. With his left hand, he flicked the frat boy’s nipple, making it harden and pop against his bulging pec. Jared walked around the table and grabbed Michael’s shoulder, trying to shake him out of whatever stupor this frat boy had put him into. However, all that this accomplished was somehow ripping Michael’s expensive button-down shirt down the middle. Michael’s skinny, pale frame was exposed, rippling with exertion. Wait, no. Not exertion. It was just… rippling.

As Jared watched, six abs bubbled up from beneath his boyfriend’s stomach, clenching and unclenching as they grew and bulged, the force of their growing bulk eventually pushing against his navel until it seemed to burst, making a quiet popping sound as it flipped from an innie to an outie. The frat boy placed a finger at Michael’s belt line and ran it up toward Michael’s newfound abs, a trail of thick dark hairs rising up in its wake to form a masculine treasure trail, also brunette and slick with sweat.

Michael gasped and shuddered, pausing the kiss so he could take a deep breath. His chest slowly rose. And rose. And rose. His pecs ballooned into an enormous shelf, his soft nipples stretching to the limit until they too made a soft popping sound and turned into hard, dark knots at the end of what seemed to be two balloons inside his chest. His new pecs were too big for his position, crushed between him and the frat boy. He shifted slightly, removing his shirt completely and shaking out his shoulders, which spread like a pair of mighty wings, becoming an impossibly wide foundation to accommodate his newly giant pecs comfortably. He scratched at his rib cage, where a tattoo inked itself across the skin, bearing the Greek letters “delta rho chi.”

Jared realized he had just been standing there, gawping, for more than a minute. He couldn’t understand what he was seeing. This muscular, shirtless, horny guy who was still making out with a stranger looked nothing like his boyfriend.

His boyfriend, Michael, who was preppy and oh-so perfect for him.

But… there was nothing preppy about this man. Sure, he wasn’t wearing a shirt, but the button-down that Jared could vaguely remember seeing earlier was now a hockey jersey, rumpled and squished behind the horny duo’s writhing bodies. The smart slacks he thought Michael had worn were now distressed jeans that strained against muscular legs.

His boyfriend, Michael, who was an adorable nerd.

But… this guy certainly couldn’t be described as adorable. Jared examined Michael’s face, watching as his nose bent like it had been previously broken. The chinstrap, more than shaping his jawline, actually seemed to warp it before Jared’s eyes so it became straighter and broader. His neatly plucked eyebrows thickened, becoming vaguely simian and just as unkempt as the rest of his hair, also fading to a brunette color. His eyes were closed. Was it a trick of the light or were there bags forming beneath them? The skin around his eyes darkened and reddened, making him look like a hard-drinking raccoon after a week of sleepless nights.

His boyfriend who loved him. His boyfriend, whose name was… Whose name was what? Jared panicked, realizing that the man in front of him was so different from how he used to be that he was struggling to remember how he used to look and what he was called. Was it Mitchell? Michael? Oh, of course…

“Mike!” shouted Jared.

Mike broke his kiss with the frat dude with a sound like a plunger. He grunted, “‘Sup?”

“What’s going on, Mike? Why are you just making out with this idiot?” Jared asked. “What about us? What about our anniversary? The opera? Philip Glass?”

“Fill up glass?” Mike said, seemingly dazed. “Nah dude, I usually drain ‘em!” He chugged the rest of the beer from the stein that the frat boy had set on the table earlier. Giving a deep, boisterous chuckle and a burp, Mike picked up a blue baseball hat from the floor (which Jared could have sworn wasn’t there before), slammed it haphazardly over his greasy rat’s nest of hair, grabbed the frat boy by the hand and dragged him toward the bar, saying, “C’mon bro, let’s get another.”

As the newly minted frat bro walked away, Jared found the memories of his boyfriend fading more and more. He tried to remember the name again. It was on the tip of his tongue. He’d literally just said it. What was it? He tried to jog his memory. He was here at Buffalo Wild Wings because it was their anni-. Their- He was here because it was the closest place to his office and he needed to get some quick food while working overnight on this important report. Of course! How could he have forgotten? That deadline was looming. The stress of it must be the reason he felt so panicky, sweaty, and bereft. He dug into his messenger bag and pulled out his laptop.

————————

Mike was so happy he had found Eddy. Another bro just like him who loved to suck cock and didn’t mind inviting a third or a fourth into bed whenever the fuck they felt like it. Just a cool, chill dude, the kind he’d always dreamed of meeting when he got to college last year.

Speaking of… He turned to ask his boyfriend which Grindr hookup he wanted to invite over the frat house that night, but Eddy was distracted. He was looking over at some preppy-looking douchebag at a table a little way away from them. He had his laptop open, working on some sort of spreadsheet. He took frequent breaks from inputting data to glare over at Mike and his buddies.

Eddy bellowed over the racket their frat brothers were making. “Who the fuck brings work to Buffalo Wild Wings? What kind of loser life is that? Why bother pouring your entire soul into a career when you can just have fun and fuck around instead?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you,” Mike shouted as he pulled Eddy in for another sloppy, delicious, beer-soaked kiss.

#preppy #frat #personality change #iq drain #cuck #chinstrap #muscle growth #tattoo #couple

[salmonskinrolltf]

Grindr Roulette

My name is Andy:

This is my boyfriend Christopher:

Every year on our anniversary, Christopher and I download Grindr. No, it’s not to look for a third. Well, sometimes that does end up happening, but that’s not the point.

You see, I have a drop of magic in my blood that I can only channel once a year. Ever since we realized that any monogamous relationship needs a chance to spice things up once in a while (we’re both each other’s first long-term boyfriend), this is what I’ve been using it for. On the day of our anniversary, each of us sets up a blank Grindr profile. The only thing we fill in is our “Tribe.” I think we would both probably fall under the “Clean-Cut” category normally. We’re both just regular, hipster-y kinda guys, you know? Christopher is a shy, adorkable graphic designer who works from home and likes it that way. I’m a little more outgoing, though I’m not exactly the party boy type. I’m pretty vanilla overall and work at a legal aid nonprofit.

But there are so many Tribes on Grindr: Bear, Geek, Jock, Leather, Rugged, Twink, and more. And sometimes it’s just nice to change up the routine. Take a little break from being vanilla. From being… ourselves. So instead of selecting the Tribe that best fits us, we let fate decide for us by spinning a wheel. My magic does the rest. Our profiles are then automatically filled out to match our new Tribes, and we transform into our new personas for a hookup that never fails to be hot.

We never know which Tribes we’re going to get, which is what keeps things interesting. The only trouble is, I’m not able to set a time limit on the spell. It only ever lasts a few days, never more than a week, but we do have to take some time off work to account for it. My coworkers think Christopher and I do an annual anniversary vacation. They’re not entirely wrong, I suppose.

Tonight is our 10th anniversary, and it’s my turn to spin the wheel first. I’m waiting in the living room with a glass of wine.

Christopher comes in, places the wheel on the table, and grins at me while I give it a mighty yank. It takes nearly a minute to slow to a stop, click-click-clicking past a variety of options, each hotter than the last, until it hits “Discreet.” Hmm. I’m not even sure what that means, to be honest. My phone pings as my new profile magically autopopulates.

Name: Bottom4NSAFun My Tribe: Discreet

Age: 45 Position: Bottom I’m Looking For: Hookups Meet At: Your Place

Oh, I guess my guy is on the DL. Don’t blame me for not knowing what all the categories mean, I never had a reason to use Grindr to actually find hookups. Christopher and I have been together since high school. My guy’s lack of a profile pic is a little sus, though. I’m worried I’ll turn out to be an uggo, but at least I’ll still be a bottom. That’s definitely keeping me in my comfort zone.

Christopher grabs my phone to look at my profile. He shrugs, saying, “You’re a man of few words, I guess.” He turns his attention back to the wheel and spins it. Less forcefully than I had, so it lands relatively quickly on “Jock.” Ping! I look over his shoulder as he scrolls through his new profile.

Name: Topher My Tribe: Jock About Me: got no type when it comes to fun. if you’re hot, I’m DTF. 420 friendly. would never say no to a generous lover

Age: 20 Position: Top Body Type: Muscular Relationship Status: Single I’m Looking For: Hookups

I look at the photo on “Topher’s” profile and, honestly, it’s a little much. I’m not usually into such beefy guys. Hell, I became a dedicated Cumberbitch after binging Sherlock three times in a row. But something about this photo ignites a fire in me. I feel like my balls are tingling and I chub up in my pants just looking at the tiny headless torso on the phone’s screen.

That must be the magic kicking in. My interests are already morphing. Fuck, I’m so entranced by the whorls of chest hair peeking out from the wrestling singlet that it feels like a slap in the face when Christopher locks his phone and puts it in his pocket.

He turns to me, asking, “So, whose place is this?”

It takes me a moment to wrangle my brain back into reality. It’s a good question, really. Since we’re role-playing a Grindr hookup, it’s not like our characters already live together. Usually we alternate which of us is the person who lives in the apartment, and which of us is the visitor. The place then transforms to match the host’s persona. My magic is very thorough. I scratch my chin, thinking about the little information my profile was able to deliver.

I say, “Well, it sure seems like my guy can’t host, so it’s yours, babe.” I give him a peck on the cheek and head out the front door.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind me, a wave of dizziness hits. I stumble down the hallway and lean against the nearest vertical surface to settle myself. We’ve played this game half a dozen times before, so I’m usually used to the feeling of my old self slowly slipping away, but now I’m dizzy and there’s a knot of nerves in my stomach that I’ve never felt before. Did something go wrong? I open my phone and check my Grindr profile again.

As soon as I do so, it’s clear my magic is still working. The profile is unchanged, nothing weird about it. I take a couple steadying breaths. The knot in my stomach is still there, though, and it’s joined by what feels like a swarm of butterflies. Whatever. I try to ignore it, but when I turn around I realize I’m in front of the elevator. I look to the left, then to the right. I realize I'm not actually sure where Topher’s apartment is. I scroll through my Grindr message history. It’s short.

Bottom4NSAFun: Looking? Topher: Pics?

This is followed by an ass shot taken in a well-kept bathroom. The toilet, which is covered in a doily, isn’t even properly cropped out. There’s no face, or any other identifying features. Of course. So I’m still in the dark about what I look like. It’s not a bad ass, though.

Topher: K

This message is followed by the building’s address and the apartment number: 514. Thank goodness. I look up at the door across the hall from the elevator, number 510.

I walk to the door marked “514” and go to knock, but suddenly the knot in my stomach tightens. What if I have the wrong place? What if it’s not Topher behind the door? What if it’s someone from work? How will I explain being in this random apartment building? I gulp, look around to make sure that the hallway is empty, then open my phone to send a message.

Bottom4NSAFun: Here

I hear a rustling sound behind the door, then a pair of feet lumbering toward me. The door creaks open. A hairless young man stands before me, clad in a wrestling singlet that is patently too big for him. It hangs down so low in the front I can practically see his belly button. His skinny arm tenses as he pulls the door completely open, surveying me with a supercilious air.

He gives me a once-over before backing out of the door frame, allowing me to step inside.

“Nice fit,” he grunts. I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. I take a look in the mirror propped up against the wall in the apartment’s entryway and see I’m wearing my usual. Slacks and loafers with a button-down underneath a blazer. I look nice! Mostly. Sure, my sleeves and pant legs seem weirdly long, like the clothes weren’t fitted properly. Maybe the dry cleaner messed them up? But still. Why do I get the sense he’s making fun of me, just a little bit?

I step into the apartment and look around while Topher locks the door behind me. It’s about what you’d expect for a single 20-year-old, even a gay one. No decorations on the walls, mysterious stains on the carpet. A ziggurat of empty beer cans emerges from the top of a trash can in the kitchen.

The whole thing kinda grosses me out, reminding me of my college days in the frat house, cleaning up after anyone. They always called me “Mom,” but I didn’t mind. It sure beat being called… something worse.

I turn back to Topher, so I won’t have to look anywhere else in the room. I notice a Stanford insignia emblazoned on his singlet, which is a little difficult to decipher given how baggy it is. I suppose he thinks it’s a turn-on for dudes if he matches his profile photo.

“I… like your outfit,” I say, my voice cracking slightly as I do so. “Have you… lost some weight recently?”

Topher looks scandalized. “Bro, don’t diss my gains. I work out like every day. Check out this pump.” He flexes his skinny bicep, placing my hand on his arm so I can feel it. He flexes so hard that his arm seems to be bulging off his skeletal frame. Wait, it is. Warm beneath my hand, his arm beefs up. I could have encircled his upper arm with my fingers just moments ago, but my tight grip is being wrenched wider and wider by a swelling mound of solid muscle. It’s coiled and tense, solid like iron.

He flexes his other arm and a bicep bulges out, even quicker than the other arm. I grab that one too, an electric rush of lust causing my dick to stir. Fuck, he’s more jacked than I gave him credit for. I want to touch him everywhere. I run my hands down his back, feeling his lats unfurl like a pair of wings, his glutes bulging and rounding out as I caress them.

The hairs on his thighs tickle my palms as they grow round, juicy, and firm, the calves below them swelling into perfect hardened diamonds. Pointedly avoiding his dick, I slide my hands up the front of the singlet, feeling hard cobblestone abs rising up beneath the slick fabric in the wake of my touch. I grab his chest and it seems to answer my call, surging forward toward my waiting fingers, pecs forming a meaty shelf that strains against the fabric of the singlet, which is now pulled taut against his chiseled body.

Fuck, he really does look as beefy as his photo. I just couldn’t see it until I was up close, I suppose. I look down, realizing I’m still grabbing his pecs. I step back, embarrassed, saying, “I guess I got carried away. Sorry.”

He shrugs, his voice coming out in a deep croak. “It’s the singlet. Guys can’t control themselves around it.” He taps me on the chest. “So why are you all dressed up? You just come from work? What do you do?”

“I…” I pause at first because my mind feels foggy and I can’t quite remember. Then memories surface. Years working in a cubicle before being promoted to the corner office at a conservative marketing firm. I open my mouth to tell him, but another knot of fear twists my stomach. If I give him any identifying details, he might be able to use that to blackmail me. How could I be so stupid as to consider telling him where I work?

I finish my sentence, lamely. “I… work a regular, boring job just like everybody else. Same job for about twenty years now.”

Topher grunts again. “Not like everybody else. Not like me. Couldn’t do the same thing for that long, bro. I’m different.”

I sigh, looking him over. “You’ll get it when you’re older.”

As I stand there, Topher seems to be shrinking before me. Wait, everything seems to be shrinking. The fridge, the door frame, the one standing lamp in the corner of the room… My cuffs and sleeves feel like they’re slithering down my arms and legs until suddenly they fit perfectly.

I feel that knot in my stomach again, but this time it feels different. More like it’s on the outside than the inside. I put my hand to my stomach and feel my ab muscles tensing, bulking up, and then relaxing. Wait, not relaxing. The muscle is still there, tight and tense, but a wave of fat has subsumed them, ballooning out into a tight but small beer gut. It pushes against my shirt, but then the fabric is pulled in a new direction as my pecs jut out over my gut, not as juicy as Topher’s but still taut and firm, making the fabric strain against my chest and hang nicely over my stomach so that the bulge is barely visible.

Topher clears his throat, grinning. I’m shaken from my reverie. Why am I touching my stomach again? I have the weird sensation that it didn’t used to look like this, but of course it did. At least, for the last three years since I got that promotion and haven’t been able to work out quite as much as I used to. I shake the thought away and lower my hand.

Topher growls, “Why don’t you stop touching yourself and let me give it a shot?” He grabs my waist and pulls me close, stripping me to my undershirt. My blazer and button-down hit the floor and I make a mental note to drop them off at the dry cleaner on my way home. That carpet is gross, and I don’t want to have to explain any mysterious stains to… To who, exactly? My mind is still foggy.

He unbuckles my belt and pulls down my pants. I kick off my shoes and now I’m just in my undershirt and briefs. He gropes my ass. It feels great, his strong hands kneading my backside. That familiar tingle comes, an urgent need to have his dick inside me. But the tingle feels sour, somehow. A blend of pleasure and… something else. Shame. Suddenly, the idea of having his dick inside me, however enticing, vanishes in a haze of shame. I know that eventually, that need will build up so great that it overflows everything else and drowns the shame, at least for a little bit. That’s why I ended up here, after all. It’d been months since I downloaded Grindr, I was doing so well. But needs are needs. I just needed to warm up a little bit.

I take his hands in mine and whisper. “I… need a couple minutes. Can we just kiss for now?”

Topher shrugs and collapses onto a ratty-looking couch against the wall, which is covered in patches and reeks of spilled beer. I sit down primly next to him and he leans over, shoving his tongue inelegantly into my mouth. He tastes like beer too. I kind of like it. I grab a handful of the medium-length hair on the back of his head and deepen the kiss. He nibbles at my lip, which makes me gasp and let go. When I try to grab his hair again, I can’t find purchase. It feels like the hairs are wriggling backward through my fingers, toward his scalp.

I rub the back of his head with both hands and all I find is close-cropped hair. I open my eyes and realize I’m being dumb. He has the same short hairstyle he was wearing when he opened the door, bulging out of that hot singlet that reminds me so much of my time wrestling in high school. I would always be pressed into some other guy’s chest, praying that I wouldn’t get a boner like the one I have now. I feel a scraping sensation as he kisses me, like the stubble on his upper lip and cheeks is pushing out of its follicles, one millimeter at a time.

I lick the rough patch of hair under his mouth and feel a quiver roll through me. God, this is hot. I feel like I’m 26 again. I grab his chest, feeling the chest hair that I suddenly remember being there the whole time pillowing against my fingers. It wriggles around my hands like it’s alive, emerging from his chest in a profuse blanket until my hand gets lost within it. I grab some of it and give it an experimental tug. Topher moans deeply and kisses me harder. Fuck. The sensation in my ass is growing, and growing. Just a little more time and I might… Fuck.

Topher swings a leg over me and mounts my lap, still kissing me deeply. Motion behind him catches my eye, but I notice it’s just our reflections in a mirror propped against the wall next to a makeshift weight bench. As I look, my hair seems to straighten itself, flattening against my head before slithering backward into a much shorter, more professional cut. Flecks of grey suddenly daub themselves across my temples and my own short stubble grows bushier as the color drains from it too, giving me a well-kept salt and pepper beard. As I squint to try and make out exactly what’s happening in the mirror, slight wrinkles form on my forehead and around my eyes, though they don’t vanish when I stop squinting.

Any thoughts about that are driven from my head when Topher puts one arm agains the wall to lean in even closer, his chest pressing against mine. I see a dark bush of hair burst from his armpit, complementing the look of his irresistibly hairy chest. A thick musk begins to emanate from his body, driving me wild. Fuck. I shouldn’t be here. I should be- Musk fills my nostrils again. Fuck. Fuck it. I need it so bad.

“Can you take me to the bedroom?” I grunt.

Topher stands up, showing me his body in its full glory.

I want to peel that singlet off him so bad. I want to see the dick that’s barely hidden by the tight fabric. I want it in my mouth. I want it in my ass. There’s no turning back now, not tonight. My wife and Andrew Jr. aren’t expecting me home for dinner anyway, I told them I’d be working late. There will be a time for guilt and shame, but not right now. Fuck, not right now.

————————

Two days later, I’m helping Andrew Jr. move into his dorm at California University. I’m sweating as I drop a box of bedsheets on the unmade twin bed. There’s a knock on the door so I turn around. A familiar-looking young man reaches out a hand to me. “Hi, you must be Andrew’s dad. I’m Topher, his RA. Please let me know if you have any-“

He cuts himself off when he sees my flabbergasted expression, then I see a spark of recognition in his eyes.

“I- I thought you went to Stanford,” I stammer.

Topher grins smugly. “They’ll let anybody buy their merch, bro. Guys like to imagine I’m at Stanford, and I like to give them that fantasy. It’s hotter than telling folks I go to CU, you know?”

I look around nervously, hoping Andrew Jr. hasn’t gotten back from the car and overheard that. No, the coast is clear. Thank goodness. I whisper, “I can’t talk about this here, Topher.”

He nods. “Yeah, bro. I got you. But… maybe we can ‘talk’ in my dorm once all the students are out of the way at the welcome dinner?” He winks.

I’m speechless for a second. But the tingling need in my ass returns at full force. I can see a swirl of chest hair poking out from his V-neck tee, and I can already feel the sensation of it tickling my tongue returning to the back of my memory, like an acid flashback. I nod, still tongue-tied.

Then Andrew Jr. comes bounding in, smacking the door frame and shouting, “Hey, Pop!” before introducing himself to Topher, who acts cool as a cucumber while running my son through the dorm rules. I shouldn’t meet up with Topher after this. I should think about my wife. I should think about Andrew Jr. I should think about my job. I’ve never unpacked a car so fast.

#Couple to Hookup #Couple TF #Jock #Daddy #Age Progression #Age Regression #Chest Hair #Wrestler #College

[salmonskinrolltf]

Soulmates 2

[Here's a sequel of sorts to my previous story Soulmates (you don't need to have read it to understand this story). With thanks to @guytransformedforever, @beardobession, @tf-vigilante, @maletransformationlover, @clevertreephilosopher, @scorpionofredsand, and @maletffanatic for providing the photos used as inspiration.]

Hello, my name is Tyler. This is me:

And this is my roommate, Dylan:

Now look, I don’t have a problem with gay people. My cousin is a lesbian. And Dylan is a great roommate. Stays out of my way when we’re not gymming together, but is always down to hang when I need someone to talk to. I just wish he would be less in my face with all his gay shit. Rainbow flags everywhere, blasting Ariana Grande at all hours, constantly bringing new Grindr hookups back to the apartment but giving me side-eye when I ogle women. It’s just… too much for me.

Here’s the thing. I might actually be able to change that. I have this friend Evan, who I’ve wingmanned for on a few occasions over the past year. One night, when we were getting drunk together, he shared his secret with me. He has a magic gift. He clasped my hand and said “tomorrow, you will wake up and have this magic too.” And sure enough, the next day I could feel a tingle coursing through my veins, and I automatically had the knowledge of how to channel it.

Now I have the ability to change somebody’s future. I can’t fiddle with anything that’s innate or has already happened to them. Like, I can’t just make Dylan straight. But I can shape his future decisions or actions, and my magic will make alterations to speed the process along. Like if I made him decide to work out more, he would basically become a muscle beast within the week. Not that I’d do that. I still gotta be the alpha here. I just want to make him a little more… palatable. Someone cool to kick back with all the time, even if he sucks dick. Let’s see... I think I know what will work.

TOMORROW, DYLAN WILL BECOME OBSESSED WITH SPORTS

———————————

Hello, my name is Dylan:

Sports are my LIFE. I never cared about them much growing up, but about a month ago I felt the urge to join my local queer volleyball team and never looked back. It became my everything. It’s been great exercise, but on top of playing volleyball and getting totally jacked off of it, I’ve loved the sense of camaraderie. I love my team. So much so that I even pierced my nipples on a dare when we lost the semifinals. My teammate River also recommended I stop dyeing my hair, and I think the look is really working for me. For some reason, even though it’s only been a month, my hair has grown out significantly since then. Was the red dye stunting its growth or something? Anyway. I also feel like my roommate Tyler and I have really bonded. We’ve been watching baseball games together and I think he appreciates how into it I am. He says he’s excited to bro out while watching football together in the fall.

I love Tyler, but here’s the thing. Maybe I love him too much. I’ve always had this huge crush on him, and no matter how many random Grindr hookups I try to distract myself with, I just can’t stop hoping that one day he’ll give up women for good and decide he loves me. Especially now that we’re spending all this time together, bumping chests when our team wins and shit.

I know us getting together is never going to happen, but I have this… temptation. I was born with a gift. Or maybe I wasn’t. Something my twink friend Paul told me made me think maybe he had something to do with it. Anyway, I have the ability to reshape someone’s past. I change just one thing about their past, and everything about their present just ripples forward to reflect that change. It’s a delicate art. Changing something big can have huge effects that are totally unpredictable. It’s a major temptation to make Tyler gay, but who knows how he’d turn out. Plus, I think that’s just too invasive.

But… Maybe I could change something small about him. Something that would make him less my type, and allow me to move on and focus on finding a boyfriend who would actually be into me. I’m into nice guys. I really love how kind and caring he is. And come on, he’s a FIREFIGHTER. So maybe I can try…

TYLER GREW UP SELFISH AND SPOILED

———————————

What’s up, I’m Tyler.

You dig the jacket? Yeah, I’m still a firefighter, I’m just off duty. But babes dig whatever look I rock, you know what I mean? I get what I want, and what I want is a lot of one night stands. I know how to get ‘em, too. I’m so glad I made the decision to grow this beard out a year ago, it’s opened so many doors for me. And opened a lot of legs.

I’m getting what I want from Dylan, too. Finally, I have a roommate who’s willing to grab brews and watch the game with me. But I think I fucked up when I changed him. Queer volleyball isn’t exactly “sports,” at least not in my book. I thought he’d come out like a linebacker or something! I mean, nipple rings were never part of the plan. The gay guys seem to really go for them, too, so he’s got an even steadier stream of Grindr hookups coming in and out of the place.

On top of that, I’m a little sick of his shit. He’s always giving me lip about stupid stuff like leaving my dishes in the sink or dropping my unwashed uniform on the bathroom floor. He says it’s unsanitary. Like his parade of twinks aren’t dying to sniff that shit anyway. He just doesn’t get it. I think his volleyball teammates are a bad influence too. They’re all so obsessed with aesthetic and anti-hetero rhetoric. I still can’t make him straight, but I can definitely make him less… annoying.

TOMORROW, DYLAN WILL START HANGING OUT WITH MORE STRAIGHT PEOPLE WHO WILL HELP HIM STOP WORRYING ABOUT STUPID SHIT AND BE LESS PRISSY, WELL-GROOMED, AND UPTIGHT

———————————

Yo, I’m Dylan.

Yeah, I cut my hair shorter than the last time you saw me. The upkeep was just getting to be too much, y’know? A couple weeks ago, about the time I dumped that lame-ass volleyball team I was on, I just got bored with shaving every day, too. I invested in a trimmer and now I rock the stubble look, and it’s working for me. I’ve gained a bit of weight since then, and it’s all for the better because I joined my local football league. Having a few extra beers with my new buds afterward just adds to my potential as a linebacker, anyway.

I thought hanging out with more straight people would make me get used to their vibe and kinda inoculate me against Tyler, but I’m still totally obsessed with him. He’s more of a bad boy now, but I’m finding that less unappealing than I used to. Plus, he’s still parading around in his uniform all the time. I can’t help it! I’ve jerked off more times that I can count to his Mr. June photos in the local firefighter calendar.

Whenever I see his mom, she’s constantly going on about how, out of all his Tonka toys growing up, the fire truck was always his favorite. She thinks that’s why he grew up to be a firefighter. Maybe I can change that core memory into something a little more… disreputable. That would definitely make him not my type anymore. I hope.

TYLER’S FAVORITE TOY GROWING UP WAS A TONKA MOTORCYCLE

———————————

Fuckin’ A, man, I’m Tyler.

God, I love my hog. She’s a beaut, ain’t she? My parents wanted me to grow up to be a doctor or a lawyer or a firefighter or some shit, but all I ever wanted to do was ride my hog. Chicks want to ride my hog too, and I let them. As long as they don’t go near my bike! Hahaha, get it? Fuck, I love life. Let me take another drag on this stogie real quick.

Where was I? Oh yeah, my roommate, Dylan. I wish I didn’t have to room with anyone, but my boss at the garage keeps refusing to promote me. I should knock him around one of these days, see if that changes his mind. Anyway, sure, Dylan isn’t so much of a priss anymore. He doesn’t give me shit if I leave my grease-stained clothes on the couch or light up when we’re watching a football game.

But I wanted him to be straight-acting, you know? I tried to train him up as my wingman but he wore a super gay shirt with all these see-through holes to the party, and all the chicks kept their eyes on him the whole time! Fucker. Why can’t he be more like his brother? I’ve seen pictures. That dude is a full on redneck slob, got a Confederate tattoo and everything. I know they had the same backwater-ass trailer trash upbringing, why can’t he be rougher around the edges? You know what… maybe he can!

TOMORROW, DYLAN WILL REALIZE HE WANTS TO EMBRACE HIS WHITE TRASH UPBRINGING

———————————

Hey y’all, I’m Dylan.

Hoo-ee, life has been good lately. I dunno why I resisted my good ol’ boy roots for so long. This goatee really makes me look rugged, dunnit? Also the chest hair. So grabbable. I decided to stop shaving my body, and poof! There it went. A full rug, within like two days I reckon. Like a sign from God. This is how I was always meant to be.

I know I was trying to push away my crush on Tyler by making him not my type, but what’s the fuckin’ point? I need someone who can handle me, and this hot as fuck biker dude I’ve created might be the only one who can handle me at this point. I ride ‘em rough and bareback, just like the horses back home, and weak city dudes just can’t handle it.

Will he be the same if he’s not straight? Maybe not. But as long as he can take my eight inches, I’ll keep him around. I vaguely remember having some sort of compunction about changing him so drastically, but I’m too horny to remember what it was.

Fuck it.

TYLER WAS BORN GAY

———————————

Uh… hi. I’m Tyler. Who are you again?

Sorry, I’m pretty forgetful. Daddy Dylan says I don’t gotta remember shit though, as long as I let him ride me as rough and as long as he likes. He’ll do all the rest for me. He tells me where to go, what to do, who to do. There are so many nice, hot guys who are willing to pay our rent if I turn a few tricks. I love it.

I’ve been like this as long as I can remember. My mom and dad kicked me out when I was 18, in my senior year of high school. I was caught sucking my English teacher’s dick behind the locker rooms. I never went to college after that, but it’s not like I was getting good grades anyway. Sucking Mr. Brentmon’s cock wasn’t for my health, you know. He had a nice juicy one, too. I still dream about it sometimes.

What was I saying? Oh yeah, I took up with this biker gang for a while after getting kicked out. I’ve always had a thing for bikers. But once they got through using my ass, they got bored. It was hard for a while, but now things are oh, so easy. I get all the dick I could ever want. I have a roof over my head, and no job to worry about. All I do is go to the gym and eat and fuck and I never have to think. Dylan said he might take me out muddin’ sometime too. I don’t know what that is, but anything Dylan does is fun. Fuck, I love the way his goatee tickles my skin when he kisses me, so rough, so manly. Way manlier than I’ve ever been. It’s so fucking hot. I love how he takes care of me.

I really have no complaints. I wouldn’t change anything about my life, even if I could remember how…

#roommates #straight to gay #masculinization #biker #redneck #jock #IQ drain

[salmonskinrolltf]

The Grind

Todd really did enjoy working from home. He loved the perks of getting to roll right out of bed when his alarm went off, and he loved not being stuck in traffic every morning and evening on his commute. But recently, he was starting to feel like he couldn't focus. It was important to him to succeed at this job, so he could keep rising in the ranks at his ad agency, but there were too many distractions that weren't allowing him to prove himself: chores to do, food to eat, noise from his neighbors. Dear God, the noise!

The window of his home office opened right out onto the alley behind his apartment. It was summer, so he needed the windows open in order to snag that cross breeze and keep from boiling to death, but the teenage skaters that seemed to swarm the alley during summer break were out and about in full force.

He tapped his chin with his pen, trying to come up with a good word that a cat might use to describe the delicious new treats Todd's client was going to feed him, but he found himself distracted yet again by the noise from the skaters outside. He wondered how they didn't get bored, with their endlessly repetitive roster of lame-ass tricks that all sounded the same.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Whirrrrrrr-thud

That's all Todd heard all day, over and over, with metronomic regularity. If he could harness one-tenth of the passion that these burnouts used when trying to learn ollies or whatever, he would be CEO within the week.

God, if only. He felt like he was working himself to the bone, with no results. A mighty headache was threatening to rear up and throttle his brain, too. He had been chugging Pedialyte, hoping to at least make it to the end of his shift. If he used even one sick day, he worried he'd seem like a slacker who wasn't committed.

OK, staring at his laptop screen wasn't working. He pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. Sometimes physically writing things down helped his creative juices flow. He tapped his pen on his chin with a maniacal rat-a-tat rhythm. It didn’t help. He sighed and hung his head in his hands. He just wanted to rise in the ranks. To get a better life for himself. Why was this so difficult?

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Todd tapped his pen on his chin more slowly. Was it just him, or were the skaters kind of perfectly timing their tricks? It sounded almost like the percussion on one of his favorite classical compositions. He strained to listen.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Yeah, there was definitely a meter to the noises, so precise that his brain felt like it could slot perfectly into them. He realized the predictability of the noise would be beneficial in terms of helping him ignore the skaters and focus back on work. As long as he internalized the rhythm, it would just fade into the background.

He pulled the paper toward him and began tapping with fresh vigor, trying to let the noise sink into the back of his brain.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Whirrrrrrr-thud

The sound was still present, but it was already becoming more like a gentle hum he was only vaguely aware of.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Whirrrrrrr-thud

That’s right. He felt the noise begin to flow through him. It was just like living in an apartment by the freeway, he thought. You can ignore any noise if it becomes familiar enough.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Familiar… Familiar… Family! He scribbled on his notepad. “Your cat is a part of the family…” He sucked on the end of his pen. He couldn’t figure out what to put next, but it was a start. He stared at the paper for what felt like another ten minutes, continuously drawing a blank. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Fuck, that headache was building again. He knew he was only feeling bad because of stress, but how was he supposed to de-stress when he had a deadline? He stared at the paper intensely, willing words to appear on it.

Whirrrrrrr-THUD

A particularly loud thud jolted Todd out of his reverie. Fuck, he was getting jumpy. Maybe he should take a ten minute break. As soon as he figured out the end of this tagline. He sucked on the end of his pen once more, but as he did so, something weird happened. There must have been a hole in the clicker of his pen, because he felt it break open, releasing a hot, gaseous substance into his mouth.

He gasped in surprise, accidentally forcing the gas into his lungs, which began to feel like they were burning. He gave a panicky cough and a plume of smoke trailed weakly from his mouth. What the fuck? He closely inspected his pen, but everything looked totally normal. Perhaps the end was a little damp from him sucking on it. But he saw nothing that explained what had just happened to him.

The burning sensation still tickled his lungs, but it was quickly mellowing into something… something quite nice, actually. His toes felt a little tingly, and a sense of calm washed over him. He felt his muscles relax somewhat as he slumped back into his chair. His headache was even receding a bit. If he could get it to go away entirely, maybe he could finally finish…

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Yeah, fuck it. He was gonna try again. He put the end of the pen in his mouth and took another deep breath. Once more, the top of the pen opened up and expelled smoke, which he took into his lungs and held there, enjoying the warming sensation before blowing it out in a tight stream.

That’s the ticket. He felt the headache recede entirely. He finally felt well and truly relaxed. He flipped his hoodie up over his head and drew the drawstrings. Wait, he hadn’t been wearing a hoodie, had he? Fuck it, he didn’t care. He was now warm and cozy, inside and out. He felt better than he had in a long time.

But it was still too hot under the hood. It felt right to be wearing it, even in summer somehow, but he could feel sweat glistening on his forehead. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, but he still felt himself grow hotter and hotter, yet strangely lazy and unwilling to actually do something about it because he was SO relaxed.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

He began to sweat so much that his perfectly coiffed hair started to wilt, dangling down in front of his eyes. It then just… kept going. It extended down over his face to the point that he thought the sweaty strands might poke him in the eyes. His normal instinct would have been to sweep it back, but in his addled state, he instead gave a practiced flick of the head, gathering the hair at one side. The color began to change from a strawlike dirty blond, to brunette, to dark brown, to a black so concentrated it must have been dyed. But he never dyed his hair, had he? He liked being a natural blonde.

Fuck, it was SO hot. Why had he chosen to wear this hoodie? A memory blossomed of him putting it on that morning. Well, of course he had worn this hoodie. It was his favorite hoodie. He wore it every day, whatever the weather. Sure, he could do to wash it. It stank of sweat and pot smoke, but it was his and he loved it.

He needed to cool down something fierce, though. He made a move to pull the hoodie off from around his head, but his hands unconsciously ignored his intention, opting to flip up the collar of his open button-down instead. As he adjusted the collar to look perfectly mussed and careless, the material of the shirt turned coarse and thick as it became a battered denim jacket.

He was totally unaware that he hadn’t perfectly executed his plan, still feeling relaxed and a little fuzzy from his vape pen. That’s what it was, of course. A vape pen. He wasn’t sure why he'd thought it was an actual pen, like for writing. He chuckled softly. Suddenly, being confused about things felt like it came more naturally to him, somehow. At first, he was confused about that, but then he wasn’t. Being confused isn’t confusing, is it? Is that confusing? Shaking his head and laughing, he took another hit off his vape pen and blew a perfect smoke ring, letting the warm fuzziness flow through him.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

He decided to return to his brainstorming. Although he was hot and not entirely clear-headed, he felt a burst of creative energy all of a sudden. He began to scribble on the notepad, working furiously as sweat began to pool on his forehead once more. He only noticed when it began to trickle down his face, tickling his cheeks and dripping from his chin onto the page. He scrubbed his face with his hand, not noticing that, as he did so, the hairs of his neatly trimmed beard were wiped entirely away, vanishing into thin air.

As he continued to scribble, his newly clean-shaven face grew pockmarked and yet more youthful and supple at the same time. His mustache, the only thing unaffected, began to recede into his upper lip, slowly shrinking back until it was just a dotting of stubble that suggested he’d been trying to grow one out but this was as far as he ever got. As if to compensate, his eyebrows thickened, darkening to a deep brown that better matched (but not entirely) his new hair color. He didn’t even notice the dark black strands hanging down over his eyes anymore, or the careful flick of his head that he gave periodically when he needed to concentrate.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

The warmth around his head eventually made him feel sleepy and dull, and he couldn’t stop yawning. So, after a couple more minutes, he sat back and looked at the perfect tagline he’d been working on, only to realize that he’d just been doodling little cartoons all around the edge of the page instead of actually focusing on work.

“Dude, get a grip,” he said out loud. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Dude? Since when did he say dude?

He decided to take a break, cool down, and grab a Perrier sparkling water. Returning from his fridge with the green bottle, he unscrewed the cap and took a deep swig. His tongue was suddenly awash with the taste of sugary battery acid, and he had to fight not to spit it out. What the…?

He looked down and saw that he had accidentally grabbed a bottle of Mountain Dew, not Perrier. He didn’t remember buying Mountain Dew, but maybe his nephew had left one behind when he had come to visit last? He thought about going back to the fridge to swap out the drinks, but it suddenly seemed so far away. And now that he knew what flavor to expect, the taste wasn’t all that bad, actually.

He took another swig of the soda, the sugary concoction lighting up his insides.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

His skin began to feel itchy. Was he having an allergic reaction to the soda? He lifted up the hem of his hoodie and scratched at his stomach. As he did so, he felt the light blonde hairs of his treasure trail wriggling back into their follicles, leaving him perfectly smooth. What the fuck?

Finally, the shock of what he had just felt pierced his newfound love for the hoodie and he ripped it off, along with the denim jacket. He rushed into the bathroom, arriving in front of the mirror just in time to see his sparse blonde chest hair receding back into his skin. He ripped off his chinos as well, panicking as he saw the hairs on his legs vanishing into thin air. He did a quick 360 and checked in his underwear, noting that the only hair that remained on his entire body was his pubic hair and armpit hair, both of which seemed thicker than usual and were quickly darkening to a deep brown as though they were in a time-lapse video.

He watched this happen in horror, but even with his hoodie off, his head still felt warm and sleepy. His senses felt dulled, and he struggled to think of what he could possibly do next. He began to breathe faster in his panic, his belly jiggling slightly as he did so. Breathe. Jiggle. Breathe. Jiggle. Breathe… Nothing.

As he watched, his soft tummy had begun to recede as well, revealing cobblestone abs like the tide pulling out over a rock formation. His doughy chest began to firm up as well, shrinking into a pair of lean pecs, his round nipples shrinking and popping out from their perches on the hardened mounds as soon as they were finished forming.

“Holy shit, dude, I’m ripped!” he said, letting the slang tumble breezily out of his mouth without a second thought while he rubbed his abs with both hands. The ridges of his stomach made his fingers tingle and his arms shrank, lean muscles emerging from the surface while his legs followed suit, the thighs shrinking into the perfect fit for skinny jeans - where had that thought come from? - while his calf muscles rippled and stretched, their new bulging shape accentuated by his hairless, pale skin.

Whirrrrrrr-THUD

Todd felt the noise from the alley reverberate around his head. It sounded like someone out there must have fucked up a crooked grind real bad. ‘Gnarly,’ he thought, imagining how much pain they must be in. His mental image grew more and more clear and vivid. Somebody falling onto the asphalt on their elbows.

He felt a slash of pain across his elbows and held them up, seeing red in the mirror before it faded into a pair of scarred, scabbed patches that he felt like had always been there. He returned to his reverie. Somebody skinning their knee after narrowly avoiding hitting a tree. Another slash of pain and the skin on his knee suddenly looked knobbly, like it was still healing.

As potent mental images flitted one by one through his brain, scars and scrapes began to dot his body. Slash, slash. Two more long scars on the left knee. Slash. A long red scrape along his right pec that looked dope as hell. Slam. His palms became pockmarked and gravel-scraped.

Not even noticing the pain anymore as his skin toughened and ever-so-slightly tanned, he stood up straight to his full height, admiring the effect of his newfound musculature. He was too busy trying (and failing) to pop his skinny pecs to notice that his “full height” was a couple inches shorter than it used to be.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

The sound of the skaters outside brought him back to the present. Wasn't he supposed to be doing something, other than checking himself out in the mirror? He got dressed, throwing his hoodie and jacket back on. He could have sworn he’d been wearing a different pair of pants earlier, but all he found crumpled on the bathroom floor was his favorite pair of joggers. Oh well, he threw them on too.

He was halfway out the door when he remembered he was supposed to be doing something at home. Where the hell did he think he was going? He shook his head, trying to remember. He still felt sleepy and slow, his thoughts inching along as he tried to remember what he was supposed to be doing.

He reached into his pocket for his vape pen and realized he’d left it on his desk. His desk! That’s what he was doing! He was still on the clock! He needed to work!

He wandered over to his desk, took a drag from the vape, and stared in consternation at the notepad in front of him.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

He knew he was supposed to care about this dumb shit about cat food or whatever, but he really wasn’t feeling it. Something in the back of his mind told him that he’d get money if he finished it though, so he decided to give it a shot. He sat back in his chair and found himself falling, the chair’s seat vanishing beneath him. Before he hit the ground, however, he was caught with a soft flump in a squishy, slick mound.

He looked down and saw that he was in a beanbag chair. Something was wrong here. He could feel his brain slowly whirring. Was it the chair? No, it’s the one he’d brought from home when he moved in. He saw his initials carved crudely into the fabric on his right side.

What was wrong, then? Was it his desk? No, he didn’t have a desk, did he? He looked up and saw his entertainment unit in front of him, his XBOX still glowing green because he’d forgotten to turn it off earlier. No, all that looked normal.

So what was wrong? Was it the fact that he was worrying about money?

Whirrrrrrr-thud

His parents paid for whatever shit he wanted as long as he kept his community college grades up, so there was no need to worry.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

No need to worry at all, really. About anything. Or think, even. He barely ever went to class. He just wanted to hang with his friends at the skate park. But as long as he flirted with his professors the right way, he passed with flying colors. He was a studied flirt, even if he wasn’t a studied anything else.

Anyway, his parents would let him drop out once he proved he could make money as an X Games champion. He rubbed his dick through his joggers, not noticing as it plumped up a few extra inches while he fantasized about all the tail he’d get once he was a skateboarding champion with endorsement deals and shit.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

No, he had all the money he needed. He just wished he was 21 already, so he could buy weed for himself at the dispensary. Then everything would be perfect. Just two more years, he reminded himself. He could survive on stealing shit from his older brother's stash at home until then.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

Todd leaned back in the beanbag and reveled in that sound. His favorite sound. He loved it so much. He never wanted to stop hearing it. With his eyes closed, he didn’t notice the rest of the room change around him. The tasteful Pier One art being swapped out for posters of busty babes and retro Tony Hawk video games sloppily scotch taped onto the walls. The cream-colored couch he’d saved up for was now scuffed, stained orange in patches from crushed Cheeto dust, and stank of weed.

The wall that formerly held potted plants was now devoted to a rack of the sickest custom boards anyone had ever seen. Not that he’d made any of them, he didn’t have time for that shit. He just paid other people to bring his dope-ass ideas to life.

Whirrrrrrr-THUD

Todd was rubbing his dick absent-mindedly again and came in his underwear. Fuck. He hadn’t prematurely ejaculated in months, now. As he changed his underwear, leaving the cum-drenched boxers on the floor by the beanbag, he worried about doing that in front of a babe he wanted to score.

He needn’t have worried. Todd didn’t know it, but he would never have worries again. Inside that underwear, which would remain on the floor forgotten for the next two weeks, contained the last vestiges of his previous life, expelled through pure pleasure at the life he got to live now. What he left behind was a person he would never remember and who he would shudder to think had even existed in the first place.

No, he was destined for a dope life. In a clean pair of underwear and his favorite kicks, he wandered his way into the back alley, watching his friends Tate and Landon practicing tricks while offering them tips and taking a hit off his vape. The grind was over for Todd now, though that word already meant something entirely different to him at this point.

Whirrrrrrr-thud

#skater #TF

[salmonskinrolltf]

Am I Back?

2023 was rough for writing, but now it's time to get back on the horse. New TF story coming soon... More to follow, if I have my way.

Happy 2024 to all who exist in this particular space-time continuum!

[salmonskinrolltf]

Update & Marvel Frat Boy Story Commission

Hey everyone! So I've been incredibly busy, which is why I haven't been so active on here lately. I've been writing a book 👀 Not a TF book, but if this goes well then something like that could be next! However, that has prevented me from writing much TF stuff even though I have a lot of fun ideas. In the meantime, I commissioned @writer-ofstuff to write a sequel to this story about Captain America, Thor, and Iron Man being exposed to a gas that turns them into frat bros. I've attached that story below, so I hope you enjoy!

Bucky is worried about Steve. It wasn't like his friend to not answer his messages this long. He knew Steve had some sort of meeting at Stark Tower. He told Bucky as much in his last message to him. Followed up with him saying he'd see Bucky later. That was almost four days ago, and Bucky has had radio silence from Steve since.

Bucky at first thought the Avengers had been summoned for some kind of mission. However he had checked with Sam, and Sam hadn't heard of anything either. This is what prompted Bucky to go to Stark Tower himself to see if he can figure out where Steve is.

He was a little apprehensive since he and Tony don't have a good relationship. Given what Bucky had done to Tony's parents when he was brainwashed, it was understandable for Tony not to want to be around Bucky.

Bucky takes a deep breath and enters through the front doors of Stark Tower. Reaching the elevator he startles when he hears this strange swoosh noise coming a few feet behind him. A man steps through the portal that had appeared there. The man is wearing unique attire with a red cape that Bucky swears moves on its own as if it waved at him. But surely that was just the uptick of wind from the portal as it closed behind the man.

"Are you here for someone as well?" The man asks.

"I'm looking for my friend. Steve Rogers." Bucky answers.

"Ah, Captain America's friend. The Winter Soldier, correct?" the man then asks.

Bucky recoils a little at the name, a few flashes of the awful things he had done under that name. But he is quick to compose himself.

"Bucky is fine." He tells the guy.

"Dr. Stephen Strange." The guy introduces.

'Oh so this is the sorcerer guy Steve talked about.' Bucky thinks to himself.

That should have been an easy guess given the guy's flashy entrance. 

"So why are you here?" Bucky asks.

"Stark was supposed to contact me the other day needing my assistance with something." Dr. Strange continues."But I was dealing with a prior engagement and couldn't answer his call. After a few days of nothing I decided to check in and see what he needed myself."

Bucky makes a noise of acknowledgement in reply, since he isn't sure what to say to that. It does make him question if something had happened to them then, since Tony had contacted Dr. Strange around the time Steve had come here. The elevator doors open and Bucky goes to step inside. But Dr. Strange stops him before he can. 

"No need for that. I have a faster way to get to the top,” He says. 

Dr. Strange opens another portal, the orange circle showing the upper floor of Stark Tower in its center.

"Why didn't you teleport yourself there first instead of the main lobby?" Bucky can't help but ask.

He and Dr. Strange step through the portal to the upper floor of Stark Tower. Before Dr. Strange can explain his reasoning, both men pause at the mess they find on the top floor of the tower.

"Jeez it looks like someone threw a party up here." Dr. Strange says.

It’s true, the place was a mess with cans of soda, beer, and pizza boxes. Not to mention work out equipment was also strung around the room, as well as some dirty clothing.

"I haven't seen a room this messy since I had to visit the frat house at my college." Dr. Strange notes.

"I wonder who made this mess, and where Steve and the others are." Bucky says.

It’s perplexing since Steve wasn't the type to make such a mess. He doesn't know Tony well, but he assumes that Tony wouldn't want his place this junked up. Thor, from what Bucky had been told, would seem to be the one to make such a mess like this. But the question is, did he do this or was it someone else's handiwork?

It is baffling to say the least, and it leaves Bucky still confused as to where Steve is. He is lost in his thoughts as he surveys the room, seeing if he can't find any sort of clues. He pauses when he sees something emitting from one of the air vents. 

It looks like a plume of gas? But it is this sorta vibrant almost neon color which he has never seen. He does know of course that it could be dangerous, and he is already moving toward the door, shouting for Dr. Strange that they need to get out of there.

However more of the gas somehow makes its way to the entrance and blocks it, leaving the two man trapped in the room with the unknown gas.

"I got this,” Dr. Strange says with confidence. 

He moves his hands, doing a few characters with them as two portals then open up in front of and behind him and Bucky. A wind current sucks the gas into the portals and moments later, the gas is cleared from the room before it could reach either man. 

“Impressive, huh bro?" Dr. Strange says as he looks at Bucky.

"Did you just call me bro?" Bucky asks. 

He doesn't know Strange, but he seemed the type of man not to have the word “bro” in his vocabulary. Dr. Strange looks just as confused as Bucky.

"Yeah, I don't know why though." He mutters.

"No big deal my dude." Bucky blurts without thinking. 

He pauses when he hears what he just said. Dr. Strange gives him a similar look. 

"Bro, what's up with how we're talkin’ man?" Bucky says. 

“Somethin' ain't right here dude." Dr. Strange says. 

He looks angry over how he’s talking. It’s clear that neither man can control how they speak. 

"Ugh. This is infiera.. infirea… this is fucking dumb!" Dr. Strange settles on saying. It becomes clear he couldn't pronounce the word he wanted to say.

Bucky agrees, it must have been that weird gas they got rid of. That was the only explanation on what could make them talk like a pair of douchebag dude bros. 

Bucky wants to suggest they get out of here, but his head starts to ache. He feels himself sway on his feet. He doesn't understand why he’s feeling so airheaded. It is so hard to focus his thoughts on what to do exactly in this situation. 

Bucky is so caught up with his thoughts he doesn't notice the way his body is steadily altering underneath his clothing. His muscles are losing some bulk to them, to become a lot more defined, showing a body he has gained through workouts rather than intense training. 

The scars from various fights slowly fade to unblemished skin. The most drastic change he undergoes, which makes him take notice, is his arm. The vibranium arm slowly attaches more to Bucky's torso. The metal softens while it gradually turns into a real arm. Bucky looks at his now real arm, clenching and unclenching his fist, staring at it in astonishment.

"Bro, my arm." He says softly.

"Uhh yeah man, that's your arm. Now can we focus here?" Dr. Strange snaps.

"Huh? Focus on what?" Bucky asks, a little dumbfounded about what his friend means.

Stephen opens and closes his mouth, a frown forming on his face. 

"I don't remember,” he says.

That makes both men erupt in laughter. Bucky points out the outfit his friend is wearing.

"Dude, a bit earlier for Halloween yeah?" He asks.

"I don't know what this getup even is man,” Stephen admits.

He strips out of his clothing, getting down to just his briefs. Now that he is mostly naked, it’s easy to see how his body too has gained some muscle on it, as well as a decent amount of body hair spread along his upper torso. Stephen runs his hand over his chest absent-mindedly. 

The gray hairs in his hair and goatee regain his natural hair color. His mature face smooths away any wrinkles the Sorcerer Supreme had, giving him a more youthful look of a man in his twenties. Stephen's goatee starts to shave down, a heavy five o'clock shadow spreading along his jaw and his cheeks, while Stephen's hair shrinks back into his scalp a good bit, leaving the former Sorcerer Supreme with a buzz style haircut. 

Bucky watches Stephen's changes with a strange fascination. He wants to speak up and warn his bro what was going on, yet all he can do is watch the transformation unfold. Being distracted like he is by Stephen, Bucky fails to notice how his own changes are progressing. 

He shrinks a few inches in height, his own torso itching as bristles of dark colored hair sprout along his formerly clean shaven torso. The pelt of body hair is much thicker than Stephen's. Bucky's scruff also grows denser until he sports a well trimmed beard. His face then smooths over any wrinkles and signs of aging to give him a more youthful look. Bucky now looks like a man in his twenties, just like Stephen. 

The two men crack lopsided smiles at each other while their minds quickly alter, Stephen forgetting his training and everything he accomplished as a top surgeon as well as the Sorcerer Supreme. Bucky forgets his past trauma from being tortured and used as a killing machine. The two young men have a fresh start as their new selves as the gas's effects dwindle down to completion. 

"Bro, where do you think Steve and the others are?" Bucky asks.

"Miss your boyfriend already?" Stephen teases.

Bucky gives him a playful shove, the two rough housing as the doors open and their bros came waltzing in.

"There you two are."

"Was wondering where you two slowpokes had gone off too."

"Yeah bros, you missed a hell of a party!” Steve was the last to say, coming up to stand beside his bro Bucky. Stephen meanwhile joins Thor and Tony. The three talk about the next game while Steve and Bucky do their own thing.

None of the frat brothers notice the computer in the back of the room, the screen being covered up in discarded clothing that hid the blinking incoming message icon.

#personal #Marvel #frat

[salmonskinrolltf]

Sir

A story commissioned by @jerisch

It might not look like it, but Ethan is on his way to a job interview. Believe it or not, this is his lucky interview outfit. Every job he’s really wanted, he’s dressed like this. The rugby shirt subtly (or not-so subtly) reminds interviewers that he’s good on a team, but the package-hugging shorts appeal to the animal side of their brains to remind them that, whatever team he’s on, he’s still the alpha dog. Usually, when the salary is too low, he can just subtly intimidate the interviewer by flexing or leaning in close, and he gets what he wants.

And he really wants this job. Mann & Snyder is the most sought-after law firm in the state, and even being a paralegal there would be twice the salary that he was currently making. In fact, he heard that the partner he’d be working for, Mr. Sanderson, is so filthy rich, he has his own mansion and a staff of 12. Ethan was practically salivating just thinking about being at a company that would allow him to be that rich.

When he arrived, the interview was going according to plan for a while. But when he was asked if he had any questions, he started trying to adjust the job to his expectations. He leaned in close to the woman behind the desk, letting her smell his intoxicating pheromones. “Look, we both know I’m overqualified to simply be a peon here. I work best as a leader, so how ‘bout I take a senior paralegal position right off the bat?” He leaned back in his chair, putting his arms behind his head. His armpit hair poked out of the tight sleeves of the shirt, which were straining to cling to his flexed biceps. He knew all this. In fact, it was a very calculated power move. He could tell she was totally on his hook. He wondered if she’d try to sleep with him, like a couple of his interviewers had. He wouldn’t mind, she was pretty stacked. The woman blinked, then smiled. “You would actually be perfect for Mr. Sanderson’s personal team. Let me just fetch him.” She exited the room, her stiletto heels clicking on the wood floor of the office.

Holy shit! Ethan pumped his fist. He thought the best he could ask for was a pre-hire promotion, not an actual sit-down with the big boss himself and an immediate offer of a gig. This was going better than he could have anticipated! 

When Mr. Sanderson entered the office, he was heralded by a cloud of musky cologne that filled the room before he even entered. Pheremonal, Ethan could tell. He was wearing some himself, but this dude must have access to some really expensive, potent stuff. But Ethan could work with this. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to dominate this incredibly powerful, rich man, not if he wanted this job, but he could stand his ground and prove his worth. He puffed up his chest and struck a power pose.

But as soon as Mr. Sanderson stepped through the door, Ethan found himself avoiding eye contact, averting his gaze in a sign of subconscious deference. The man sat down heavily at the desk and as much as Ethan attempted to meet his eye, he just… couldn’t.

Mr. Sanderson didn’t even ask him any questions, just gave him a once-over and handed him a card. “Alright, my boy. You’re perfect to be a part of my personal team. Go over to the address on this card to pick up your uniform.”

This wasn’t an offer. It was a command. Against his better judgment, Ethan kept his mouth shut, took the card, thanked Mr. Sanderson, nodded tightly, and headed out the door. What the fuck was going on? A uniform? Everybody at the office seemed to be wearing normal business clothes, not anything particularly special that he couldn’t have picked out himself. Oh well, he shrugged to himself. Might as well get some new duds for the new job. Free is free.

He took the subway to the stop nearest the address on the card, and was deposited at the outskirts of the city. He had to walk through several miles of increasingly suburban roads before he reached the front gate of what turned out to be a palatial estate. He buzzed the gate and flashed the card in his hand at the camera watching his every move, and with a chunk, a small human-sized door in the side of the elaborate wrought iron fence swung open.

He walked through it, admiring the topiary animals, fountains, and - holy shit were those decorative peacocks?! - that dotted the grounds. If he was required to come here a lot for work, he could get used to this. There was a lot he’d do differently, but he’d definitely steal some of the design ideas for his own mansion someday.

When he approached the house, he was ushered into a side hall by a sharply dressed manservant. Holy shit, were these… servant’s quarters? In an American house? He’d never seen anything like this. The man brusquely gestured for him to enter one of the rooms - a furnished but empty bedroom with bare off-white walls. Next to the bed was a rolling rack loaded with hangers bearing freshly pressed clothes. A suit and a dinner jacket, it looked like. Weird. Was he going to be inducted into some sort of exclusive men’s club before his first day?

“I’ll leave you to it,” said the servant. “Please get completely changed, when you’re ready. I mean completely. We have provided every single stitch of clothing that you will need.” His gaze lingered on Ethan’s crotch before he shut the door.

Ethan shrugged. Even if that servant had, like, cameras or something watching him, he didn’t mind being nude. He had a great body. He shucked his clothes, including socks, shoes, and underwear. He found a brand new pair of crisp, black briefs in a neatly stacked pile of accoutrements on the bed and put them on. As soon as the underwear was fully on and adjusted, Ethan froze in place. What the fuck? He couldn’t move!

After trying in vain for several minutes to do anything but blink, he heard the door behind him creak open and Mr. Sanderson stepped in.

“I’m glad you’re here, boy. I was beginning to think you wouldn’t make it. That cologne and the underwear only work on pure alphas. The type of subservience I require is extreme, and in order to be created, it needs a lot of raw material to convert.” He ran a finger down the ridges of Ethan’s abs, but Ethan couldn’t move or talk, only eliciting a small squeak from behind his clenched jaw.

Mr. Sanderson leaned in close to Ethan’s ear and whispered. “You were just some jock asshole before. You weren’t actually going to get anywhere in life. Things are going to be so much better now, just you see. First things first, you’re obviously aware that this underwear is... special, but you only know the half of it.”

He snapped his fingers and Ethan felt his limbs loosen. Thank fuck! He turned to run out the door, but Mr. Sanderson barked a command. “Don’t leave this room, Ethan.”

Sanderson’s deep voice resonated in Ethan’s chest and he felt his dick harden in his underwear. What the fuck was going on? 

“The underwear has taken full effect now, my boy. All your sexual humours have been rerouted to one singular place. The thing that you desire most in the world now is to make me happy, keep me safe, and keep me satisfied. It turns you on so fucking much to follow my orders, doesn’t it, boy?”

Ethan started to shake his head, but was suddenly wracked with fear that doing that might displease Mr. Sanderson. He elected to do nothing. But he found a hope blooming in his chest that Mr. Sanderson might need something else from him. Anything. His boner was already deflating with worry. 

Mr. Sanderson smiled. “Touch your toes, boy.”

Fuck! Yes! A command! And one that he could do, quite easily! Ethan bent over and touched his toes, his dick rising to full mast, squashed as it was between his hips and torso. Surges of pleasure flowed through him, but why? He wasn’t even gay! But making Mr. Sanderson happy just felt so… fucking… good. He wanted to do more. He wanted to feel like this, but even more.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Sir?” he asked, his voice bouncing from the linoleum floor beneath him.

“Why yes there is, Ethan, thank you for asking,” said Mr. Sanderson in a treacly voice. And good work calling me Sir. I didn’t even have to tell you to.” Ethan felt aglow with pride. Sanderson spoke again. “Put on these pants.” 

He handed Ethan a pair from the rack beside him. Ethan gladly did so, zipping up carefully around his hard cock. An electric shock jolted him as he fastened the button.

“Very good, Ethan.” said Mr. Sanderson, and another surge of pleasure flowed through the jock’s body. “Now, every good man needs a sturdy foundation. These pants will give you that.”

The firm torso that Ethan worked so hard to wax so his muscles could stand out began to sprout a dense mat of brown hair, swirling across his chest and blooming up from his pants in a dark treasure trail. Several of the hairs began to fade in color, greying before his eyes. His clean-shaven face sprouted a lush beard, also speckled with grey. It burst forth with such force that the scraggly hairs nearly reached his chest. It was as if he hadn’t shaved for years. He blinked and slight crow’s feet nested around his eyes as the slightest bit of grey peppered his temples as well.

“Tell me how old you are, Ethan,” said Mr. Sanderson.

“25,” said Ethan, his cock straining against the tight pants.

“Think harder, Ethan. How old are you, really?”

Ethan had told Sanderson the truth, but he was all too happy to oblige. He racked his brain to recall his birth year. It was 199… something, right? No. 1985. That number bubbled up from somewhere deep within him. “I’m 37, Sir.”

“Ah yes, that’s right. Thank you, Ethan.”

Ethan smiled like a puppy dog, happy to have pleased Mr. Sanderson. The man gave him a new command and he felt his spine turn to jelly at the thought of being able to please him again, so soon after the last time. “Now put on this shirt. I’m sure it will be a perfect fit.”

Ethan slid his arms into the crisp white shirt, fastening it around his torso. Once he was fully buttoned and had fastened the cuffs as well, he felt light-headed. He noticed that his pecs were no longer straining against the shirt. Indeed, they seemed to be shrinking as he watched, giving him a still strong but much more narrow physique, his waist pinching as well, as his abs receded into a faint 4-pack. He began to despair at the thought of all the exercise he’d have to do to build that muscle back up, but he quietly hoped that Mr. Sanderson would command him to exercise again, because then it would be so much more satisfying than simply building his body. Fuck, he wanted to give that man everything he ever wanted. It felt so good.

“Put this on, too.” Mr. Sanderson said, handing Ethan a black jacket. “We want you to fit in with high society.” As he affixed the button on the front, Ethan suddenly stood up straighter and put his hands behind his back. For some time he had been afraid of saying the wrong thing and upsetting Mr. Sanderson, but now he realized he shouldn’t speak at all unless he was spoken to! Of course! What was he thinking, even considering talking directly to Sir? What a fool he had been.

“Now take this and get your hair looking nice. You will always be neat and tidy from now on.” Sir handed Ethan a tub of hair gel and he sat down at the vanity in the room, making sure every strand of his hair was neatly parted. He felt a slight tingle through his body as he did so, not realizing that his profuse chest hair was pulling back into its follicles, trimming itself to a tidy little thatch, just enough to give his torso flavor without seeming unkempt. His beard also receded almost entirely, leaving just a dash of salt and pepper stubble around his mouth. He desperately wanted to rub his dick, which was still hard as a rock and leaking pre-cum into his new underwear. But he figured he should wait and see if Sir wanted anything else before committing such impropriety. Besides, obeying one of his commands would give him so much more satisfaction than simply jerking off.

When he was getting back up to stand at attention in front of Sir, he noticed a thin layer of dust at the top of the mirror. As soon as Sir left, he vowed to give the room a proper dusting. Everything spic and span, even in his own quarters. Wait, what was that? He didn’t live here, he lived in an apartment by- His thoughts were interrupted by a brand new command.

“Now put on these shoes. You know what they say about walking a mile…” Sir placed two leather loafers on the floor in front of Ethan, and handed him a pair of black socks. He eagerly put everything on. Once he was fully kitted out, he began to feel a bit dizzy. He kept his posture ramrod straight, forcing himself to look good in front of Sir, but his eyes began to blur somewhat.

A torrent of memories came flowing through his head, rewinding back to the beginning of his life. Working at various legal firms, working out, playing rugby with his college team, flirting with teachers to get better grades in high school… As each image flashed through his brain, it receded into nothingness and he couldn’t recall what he had just seen. His mind scrolled all the way back to his very first memory (attending a baseball game with his dad) and for a brief, terrifying moment, he felt totally empty. Everything was dark and black.

Then, with a rush, his memories returned and he heaved a sigh of relief. Mon dieu, he thought he’d forgotten everything, but there it all was. Being born in a small town in France, moving to Paris as a teenager, getting work at a series of increasingly high-end restaurants before being discovered by Sir, who brought him back to America, taught him English, and paid him handsomely, so he could send money back to his parents in France. He owed Sir everything, and Sir took everything. He had no life of his own, no friends in this country. But he didn’t need friends. He had Sir, and doing his bidding provided him with the most immense satisfaction he could ever imagine.

“Yves? Yves.” Someone was saying his name. Merde, it was Sir! How could he have let his mind wander so far when Sir was waiting to give him a command? Yves snapped back to attention. 

“One final thing, Yves.” Yves gladly stood stock still while Sir affixed a bow tie around his neck. “This is more than just a bow tie, Yves. This is a symbol. A collar. You belong to me, now and forever, from here on out. Do I make myself clear?"

Yves nodded serenely. “Oui, Monsieur. Perfectly clear. Is there anything else I can do for you today, Sir?” His French accent still clung thickly to his vowels, though his English had gotten much better in the past decade since Sir had taken him under his wing. 

“Now that you mention it, Yves, I do have a big meeting tonight, and a lot is riding on me at work. I need you to help me relax before I go in.”

Yves gleefully nodded his understanding. He loved the afternoons before big meetings. When Sir was away, Yves could spend all his time working the entire mansion to a spotless shine without any guests to bother him. Tonight, if he had extra time, he wanted to polish the silver as well. When he was serving Sir his breakfast this morning, the fork he was using looked slightly tarnished, which mortified Yves to no end. But while that was exciting in and of itself, his favorite part of meeting nights was…

Yves sunk to his knees and unbuckles Sir’s belt, the older man’s long, heavy cock flopping out when he unzipped his trousers. Yves got to work, licking up and down the behemoth, making sure it was evenly coated and slick before he took the entire thing in his mouth, all the way to the root, and began working himself back and forth.

It didn’t take long for Sir to cum, filling Yves’ mouth with rockets of jizz that he eagerly swallowed down, his own cock erupting inside his suit pants when he swallowed the last drop. Sir redid his pants and stroked Yves’ hair. 

“Good work, Yves, as always. Not a drop spilled. A perfect blowjob with zero mess, now there’s a trick. There’s nobody else I’d rather have be my head butler. You should be very proud.”

As Sir exited, Yves beamed. He was. He was proud. The compliment from Sir made his dick plump up again in his shorts, even though he had just cum. As he ran to the wardrobe to get a new pair of underwear (he would hand wash the other pair as soon as he was done with the silver), he shivered with pleasure, thinking of the night ahead. But first, he knew Sir always enjoyed a post-coital glass of champagne, so he fetched it, eager for the potential compliment that might come when it was delivered. Or better yet, another command.

#Jock #Butler #Interview #Boss #Dom to Sub #Commission

[salmonskinrolltf]

Magic Mustache - Chapter 2

A story commissioned by @beardobession. Read chapter 1 here to learn who these two handsome gentlemen are:

Cam saw Duke at the gym the next day, too. This wasn’t a coincidence. Duke was obviously an avid gymgoer. The way his pecs strained against his T-shirts told Cam that. If he was that disciplined with his body, Cam assumed that he was just as disciplined with his schedule, and he was proven right. The original plan was to show up at the exact time that Duke did, and “run into” him in the lobby. But Cam had been full of pent-up energy all morning and ended up going to the gym an hour early. He was on the weight bench when Duke finally walked in and he felt his heart skip a beat.

He decided to play it cool and finish his set before approaching, but a shadow fell over his eyes. Duke was standing over him, smiling, his beard freshly trimmed and looking oh-so sharp. “It’s Cam, right?”

Cam re-racked the barbell. “Yeah, it is! …How did you know my name?”

Duke’s face twitched. Cam couldn’t see beyond his thick beard (nor did he want to), but he could have sworn he saw a sliver of a blush on Duke’s upper cheeks.

“I… The guy at the counter told me. You’re new here, aren’t you? Do you need a spotter? I’d be happy to work out with you.”

“I actually do! I wanted to lift more than this, but was worried I might hurt myself. Thanks, Duke!”

Duke smiled. As he got set up, he leaned in close to Cam and murmured, “I wasn’t kidding about the mustache yesterday, dude, it looks dope.”

Cam wished he had a beard to hide his own blush. Hell, he wished he had a beard in general. But he breathed an internal sigh of relief at the compliment. That morning, he had been faced with a dilemma. When he woke up, another miracle had happened. He figured the Magic Mustache’s magic would extend only to his mustache. That felt natural, he’d thought, before realizing there was nothing natural about this situation in the first place. But when he woke up, with morning wood straining against his boxers, he felt the unmistakable scrape of stubble on his chin and cheeks.

After jerking off once (OK, twice), he had decided to shave everything but the mustache. At least for today. It was rough going, as the stubble felt even thicker than when he had woken up just an hour ago, but he wanted to highlight the growth that Duke had liked, in order to see if he caught his eye again. He didn’t know how well his plan would work!

———

After a successful workout with Duke (at one point a drop of sweat had slid down Duke’s cheek and through his thick beard, plopping onto Cam’s lower thigh - he had to pretend he suddenly needed to stretch so he could wait for his boner to go away), Cam was in the locker room shrugging on a shirt when the other man emerged from a shower stall, wrapped in a towel. “Do you wanna grab a smoothie?” Duke asked.

Cam was awestruck by the sight of his bulging chest and toned abs, all covered in a dense layer of brown hair. He admired the flowering vine tattoo that snaked up the side of Duke’s firm stomach, trailing down to his hip where it vanished behind the white cotton. He wanted to see how far down it went. He… hadn’t been listening.

He snapped his dropped jaw shut and looked at Duke, summoning his most innocent expression. “What was that?”

Duke chuckled. “Let’s get a smoothie. My treat.” He threw on his clothes (the vine went all the way down his upper thigh, Cam was glad to report) and the pair headed out.

As they walked along the street, Cam lingered in front of the cigar store, staring lovingly at their wares.

“You into cigars?” asked Duke. “I partake only every once in a while, gotta keep my body clean, you know? But I can buy us a couple if you want to try them out?”

Cam could hardly believe his luck. “Y-yes, that would be great, man! Thank you! I’ll pay you back.”

Later, they strolled toward Duke’s apartment, which backed up to an alley. When they entered the alley, the cigars bulging in Duke’s back pocket, Cam made him laugh so hard that smoothie shot out of his straw and all over his front. Panicked, Cam rummaged through his shiny new gym bag (purchased yesterday once he realized he’d be going more often) for the Tide Pen he always kept handy.

“Sorry, sorry!” He leaned closer to inspect the damage, not realizing that Duke had already bent over, and their faces were now just inches apart.

Cam laughed nervously. The smell of fresh strawberries overpowered him. “There’s smoothie in your beard.”

Duke didn’t move. “Do you want a taste?”

Cam couldn’t speak. All he could muster was a nod. Then his mouth was engulfed in Duke’s, his tongue already exploring, teasing his lips open. Cam had kissed guys before. He’d felt those fireworks before. But this was something else. The internal fireworks were bright, and that felt familiar. But this was the first time he also felt the sonic boom of their explosions spread across his skin. Duke’s beard prickled against the bare skin of his chin, his mustache cushioned by Cam’s own, the strands intermingling and dancing across one another, sending tingling jolts of electricity straight through Cam’s body to his dick. He grabbed the back of Duke’s head and let the man’s tongue roll across his own, his boner stiffening and rebelling against his loose gym shorts.

As they kissed, Cam’s face began to tingle more and more. He thought this was the result of beard rash, something he’d read about and definitely wanted to experience someday. But when Duke put a gentle hand on his cheek, it rasped against stubble. His stubble was back! After just a few hours! Fuck yeah, he wasn’t gonna have any choice but to grow a beard. Cam’s boner twitched and pre-cum began to stain the front of his boxers.

In that moment, he realized something. Experimentally, he grabbed Duke’s other hand and placed it on his crotch. Duke obliged him and began to rub his hard dick, the silky texture of his boxers slipping and sliding over his shaft. Cam took both of his hands and began to run them through Duke’s beard while they kissed, enjoying the way the hair, still damp from the shower and smelling sweetly of strawberries, slid across his skin like a paintbrush.

With his right hand still half on Duke’s cheek, he reached out his thumb and touched his own cheek. With a tingle of pleasure, he realized that his stubble was indeed thickening. In fact, it couldn’t even be called stubble anymore. It was a short beard that was becoming incrementally longer, millimeter by millimeter, the hairs slightly curling as they reached greater and greater lengths.

Duke pulled back and started, staring at Cam’s face. “Cam, your beard. Do you know-“

“I know,” Cam interrupted him. “I’ve found it’s best to go with the flow on this. Please don’t worry about me, I’m loving it.”

Duke shrugged. “If you say so. Wanna come upstairs?”

Cam considered what he’d just found out. The more turned on he was, the more he thought about facial hair when he was turned on, the more his own would grow. “Fuck yeah,” he said.

Duke and Cam didn’t have full-on sex, but Cam was having enough new experiences for one day anyway. But Duke did blow him, and Cam was secretly glad that he had offered. He bunched his growing beard in one hand (it was long enough to bunch - the strands were now softening with length, becoming less like a Brillo pad and more like a field of grass, tickling his fingers as he moved) while he felt up Duke’s own beard with the other. The hairs around Duke’s lips thrilled against the skin of his cock, and he felt like he was a machine gun of precum spraying endlessly into Duke’s willing mouth.

When Duke reached up a hand to touch Cam’s chest, he paused for a moment, glancing upward, before returning to his work. Fuck! Cam hadn’t even noticed! The same pinpricks of stubble that he had found on his cheeks that morning had begun to grace his entire chest, swirling around his nipples. As he watched, they poked out even further, becoming dark, feathery flecks that made it look like he trimmed regularly. As if he would ever do that.

He felt up his own chest, enjoying the way the short hairs flicked against his hands, adding texture and dimension to every inch of skin they covered. He came without warning, sending spurt after spurt of cum into Duke’s eager, waiting mouth.

After he returned the favor, Duke showed him how to properly light a cigar and the two of them took deep puffs out on the patio. Duke had warned him that the first time he tried a cigar, he would probably hate the taste and might even burn his throat, but he felt perfectly at ease with a stogie in his hand, shooting the breeze with his gym buddy? Fuck buddy? He supposed it was both, and a glowing sense of pride suffused his body as he blew out an expert smoke ring.

————

Needless to say, Cam went back to Duke’s every day after that. They didn’t smoke again (he was thinking once a month might be the best move, but he yearned for that smoky, rich flavor to roll through him again), but they sure did everything else again. And again.

He opened his computer a few days later, running his fingers through his now luxurious chest hair, which was beginning to curl into hypnotic patterns against his skin. New stubble was now blooming across his stomach, which was already feeling tighter after so many days of strenuous workouts in a row.

A notification from Amazon popped up. “7 day review hold has elapsed. Here is your original product review for Magic Mustache. Would you like to edit or publish as-is?”

Cam clicked the “edit” button and changed the review to just one word: “Life-changing.”

SEPTEMBER

Alex dragged his suitcase into the dorm, sweating with the effort, as the summer heat hadn’t quite burned away in Boston yet. His dad had offered to help him move his stuff, but he wanted to handle it on his own. It was such a rush feeling truly independent for the first time. He just hoped his roommate was nice.

When he returned to the curb to grab the last of his stuff, he heard a whistle. He turned to see a scruffy looking redneck leaning against his rusted-out scrap heap of a car. The fuck was this guy doing here? He looked totally out of place. So disheveled and hairy and totally unkempt. Alex didn’t like the look of him one bit.

The man touched the brim of his cap and asked in a thick Southern twang, “Alex, right?”

“…yeah, I’m Alex.”

“I’m your roommate, man! Cam! Nice to meetcha.”

Cam pulled Alex into a bear hug and Alex grimaced.

“What’s the matter, Alex?”

Alex gave him another once-over and decided that, while there was plenty to be concerned about here, one thing stood out above all else.

“The beard, man. I hate beards, they make guys look all scruffy and dirty. I don’t want to invite friends over and have them think you’re going to rough them up or something. The rest I can deal with, but the beard is a no-no for me.” Alex was telling the truth. He’d always favored the clean-cut look with a fervor that bordered on religious zealotry. His own stubble grew in so thick that sometimes he’d shave twice a day to make sure he was looking fresh and worthy of his place in upper-crust social circles.

“No worries, man.” muttered Cam. “I’ve got just the thing for that.”

A razor, Alex presumed. What else could he mean?

#Mustache #Beard #Chest Hair #Magic Mustache #Commission

[salmonskinrolltf]

Con-fidence

A story commissioned by @tf-vigilante

THURSDAY

Gerald undid his tie the second his apartment door slammed shut, throwing it angrily to the hardwood floor. By the time he reached his bedroom, the remainder of his work suit was strewn across various flat surfaces in disheveled heaps. Not comfortable being shirtless even in his own home, he threw on a henley tee and screamed into his hands.

How could Greg have gotten that promotion instead of him? He’d worked his ass off for months! He stayed late almost every night! He’d canceled what few dates he’d been able to snag with guys on Tinder! All because Greg was more of a “go-getter” than him? What the fuck did that even mean? Sure he was handsome and walked into every room like he owned it, but since when did that translate to being good at your job? Gerald deserved that job and he was too shy to even fight for it. He had just rolled over and watched his boss shake Greg’s hand through the glass wall of his corner office.

He groaned, hot tears stinging his eyes. When were things going to turn around for him? He thought he’d finally figured it out. But no, the world was telling him once again that he wasn’t enough. Too shy, too spineless, too weak. 

“I wish I was more confident and intimidating,” he muttered. “Then they’d finally respect me.”

His work phone pinged. As mad as he was, he couldn’t help but check the email that had just come in. He had trained himself to give his body and soul to this job, and that couldn’t change in an hour. His shallow breathing slowed as he read the subject line: “MAKE YOUR WISH A REALITY.”

The email was from an unknown contact, which shouldn’t even be possible on his office’s internal servers. The body of the email was even stranger:

YOUR WISH CAN COME TRUE, BUT WISHES COMES WITH A PRICE. FOR GREATER CONFIDENCE, RID YOURSELF OF EVERY ITEM OF CLOTHING YOU OWN. INTIMIDATION MAGIC REQUIRES FUEL FOR A FRESH START. DO NOT WORRY. NEW CLOTHES WILL COME WITH YOUR NEW LIFE.

Gerald couldn’t believe what he was reading, but he was desperate and anger-drunk enough to try anything. His sobs slowly clearing, he dumped every item from his closet and hamper into a huge garbage bag, along with the strewn clothes from his dramatic entrance, and dumped it down the apartment’s trash chute, which was thankfully located in an alcove right across from his apartment. When he got back inside, he realized that what he was still wearing probably counted too. 

He gave a deep sigh, wrapped himself a towel, undressed, and tossed the remaining clothes down the chute as well.

“Here goes nothing,” he grumbled through gritted teeth. “When you wake up in the morning and feel like an idiot, Gerald, you can always call in sick and have Rochelle bring you fresh clothes from Mom and Dad’s house.”

FRIDAY

Gerald didn’t have to call Rochelle. He woke up to his 6AM alarm and immediately noticed a pile of clothes at the foot of his bed: tight jeans, a grey tee, boots, a leather jacket, and even a silver necklace. They didn’t look anything like what Gerald normally wore, or what was considered appropriate workplace attire. But at least the email was correct in that he didn’t have to worry about suddenly becoming a nudist overnight.

But if the email was telling the truth and really offered him an opportunity to harness some sort of magic force, why didn’t he feel any different? He pondered the problem as he put on the clothes. The last thing he put on was the necklace, and the sound of the clasp clicking together seemed to reverberate through his skull. Gerald held his hands over his ringing ears, but that only made things worse. He began to feel dizzy, and he stumbled backward, accidentally knocking his head against the ceiling fan, which was thankfully turned off. He fell on his ass onto the throw rug in his bedroom.

Wait… that shouldn’t have happened. Gerald was only 5’8”, and while the ceiling fan was probably lower than was safe for an apartment, he’d never even come close to hitting his head on it. Rubbing the back of his skull, which thrummed with pain, he stood up. It took longer than it used to. He had to dart to the side to avoid hitting his head again when he was fully upright. What the fuck? He ran into the bathroom to see that he was now… what was that, oh god, about 6’5”? 

He felt a strange buzz coursing through his body and he panicked, disrobing entirely to prevent anything else weird from happening to him. But when he stared at himself naked in the mirror, his mind-boggling height was still the same. And was it just his imagination, or did he seem more toned all over? And his dick, while still soft, seemed a little plumper, a little thicker. His jaw was just a little bit firmer, and - for some reason, this was the weirdest part to him - his hair was shorter. Still curly, but it clung higher to his forehead.

He ran a hand through it, the tight curls springing back into position. That’s when he realized. He hadn’t given half a second’s thought to the fact that he was naked. Usually he’d be too embarrassed to be completely nude anywhere but the shower, but he just… didn’t care. In fact, he felt great. Not that anyone could see him, but if they did, why shouldn’t they enjoy themselves? 

Fuck… he felt hot. And what’s more, he knew he was hot! He felt a surge of confidence warm his now slightly broader chest, and realized he couldn’t wait to get to work today. He threw his clothes back on and flew out the door.

As he arrived at the office, coffee in hand, Gerald felt all eyes on him. While normally this would send a blush burning through his cheeks, he reveled in it today. As soon as he sat down at his desk, Greg poked his head around the cubicle wall, his face plastered with a faux-sincere frown. 

“It’ll be a bummer not getting to work right next to you anymore after I move to my new office,” Greg said, voice dripping with malice.

Gerald didn’t say anything. Not because he was too shy, but because he had an idea. He stood up, walked to the door, and dropped the half-full coffee cup into the trash can, purposely missing so the coffee spilled all over Greg’s white suede shoes. “Oops.” 

He walked into his boss Jim’s office without knocking. “Sir, you need to reconsider Greg’s promotion.”

Jim looked up from his computer and squinted at Gerald. “And why is that?”

“You and I both know he’s charming and that gets him far, but he is incompetent when it comes to leading a team. You know that group presentation we gave last week? It went off without a hitch because of my work. He just sat with his thumb up his ass and took all the credit.”

Jim furrowed his brow. “And why didn’t you come to me with this last week?”

Gerald shrugged. “I’m coming to you now. I’m asking you to reconsider. Take until Tuesday, and if I can’t prove to you I’m a better choice for the promotion, then feel free to give it to Greg.”

Jim looked flabbergasted, but somewhat impressed. “Well… We’re not sending in the paperwork until Tuesday anyway. If you can prove to me you’re the right fit by then, then I’ll seriously reconsider. But I’d better not see you wearing leather in the office again, I don’t care if it’s casual Friday. This is a workplace, not a biker bar.”

Gerald smirked. “Thank you, sir. Understood. Just a small problem with my laundry service today.”

The rest of the work day went great. He closed deal after deal with clients, doing better in a single day than he had in the previous month. He decided he’d come in on Sunday to get a little extra work done and really show Jim just how much he was capable of that Greg wasn’t.

He rode high on a buzz of confidence all day until it came time for bed. He realized his closet was still empty, so he’d probably have to wear the same clothes tomorrow. Oh well. He shrugged. It was the weekend. He could go pick up new threads in the morning if he had to.

SATURDAY

He didn’t have to. When he woke up, the clothes he’d left in a pile on his bedroom floor had vanished, replaced by a new, neatly folded pile at the foot of his bed. He guessed this might be  how things would work every morning from now on. He didn’t mind. No more laundry! This time, all he had was a tank top, gym shorts, socks, and sneakers. He figured this was meant to be his casual weekend look. 

The second the last stitch of clothing hit his body, the scrape of fabric seemed to ripple across his body, sending deeper and deeper reverberations into his very core. Instantly, he felt the tank top begin to strain against his body like it had started to shrink. But no, he was growing. Abs pushed out of his stomach while his chest jutted out and out, becoming a firm shelf of pecs. But the place where the feeling felt most concentrated was his arms, which looked swollen, as if they had been stung by bees. The new mass packed itself tightly around his bones, seemingly shrink-wrapping into striated muscle. Then his arms swelled again and cut into tightened cords of muscle again. And again. This process repeated three more times until his arms were positively bulging out of his sleeves.

“Shiiiiiiiit, man,” he whispered in awe. “I’m fucking JACKED!”

Gerald’s original plan was to spend the day prepping for the extra work he would be putting in on Sunday, but he decided to go to the gym instead and watch his new arms in action.

Every time he saw his new bulging arms in the mirror, he’d get hard and palm his crotch. The time flew by so fast, the sun had set by the time he got back to his apartment. He settled into bed, his newly huge arms behind his head, ready for the next day. As he drifted off to sleep, he decided that if he didn’t earn that promotion fair and square, maybe he could just intimidate Greg into giving it up. He didn’t have to actually hit him, he could just suggest that he might… He was confident that would work.

SUNDAY

Gerald was used to the routine by now. He woke up naked, and gazed down at his muscular body in delight for several minutes before even thinking to look at the new pile of clothes that had arrived. He wanted to get back to the gym today, but he knew he should get that work done first. Shoving his success in Greg’s face was the most important thing, and the gym was open 24 hours, so he could always hit it up afterward.

Today’s fit somehow felt even more casual than the last. A large T-shirt and ripped jeans. He slid into them smoothly, enjoying the power he felt in his arms as they moved. He could rip these clothes in half if he wanted to, without a second thought. He found a wristband in the jeans pocket and put it on, sending another rumble through his body.

Forget his arms, now everything was swelling and cutting, swelling and cutting. By the time he was done, his pecs looked like the prow of a ship, cutting through the air in front of him. He examined himself in the mirror, nothing once again with wonder how his hair seemed flatter and less curly than it used to be. But he was more invested in staring at his new pouty lips and firm, square jaw. Fuck, was this shit going to happen every day? He hoped so. Maybe he could take micro-naps to spur the process along. What a fucking beast!

He walked over to the foot of the bed to slip on the sandals that the magic had also provided, which is when he noticed that his bed frame was missing. What the fuck? His bedroom now boasted only a mattress sitting directly on the floor. Come to think of it, all his furniture was looking a little jacked. His nice oak coffee table was now a shitty IKEA model, and his framed art print had been replaced by a The Fast and the Furious poster scotch taped to the wall.

Seeing how different his apartment had become lit a small flare of anger in the pit of his stomach. The magic was making him a fucking beast, but it couldn’t take away his rad lifestyle. He had wanted this confidence so he could work better and pay for all the cool shit he wanted to do! A thought wriggled into the back of his mind that he could always just take the fancy shit he wanted instead of working for it, but he pushed it away and headed out the door. Whatever. If this is what the magic wanted to do, he would make sure he got that promotion and just buy all his old shit back. He knew he could do whatever the fuck he wanted. He was fucking confident about it.

When Gerald got to the office, he noticed that Jim was in his office, sipping coffee and typing on his computer. Figuring some face time would prove to the big boss that he had come in after hours and show how dedicated he was, he knocked on the door, the sound coming out a little louder and rougher than he’d meant to. He wasn’t used to his own strength.

Jim opened the door and turned pale, looking up into Gerald’s newly broad, heavy-lidded face. He squinted. “Sorry, I didn’t order anything. You must have the wrong office.”

Gerald shook his head. “No, I know I look different, but it’s me, Gerald. I’ve just been working out more. I wanted to-“

Jim shook his head. “I don’t know a Gerald. Like I said, wrong office.”

Gerald felt the flare in his chest become a roaring fire. “Look fucker, I came in today to prove to YOU what a good fucking worker I am, so stop pretending you don’t know shit about me!”

Jim backed into his office and pushed a button on his phone, muttering “Cindy, call security.”

“Fuck this, man, I’m outta here!” Gerald bellowed. It took eight hours at the gym to fully calm down from his encounter, but he was so exhausted when he got home he thankfully slept like a rock, the adrenaline ebbing from his massive frame.

MONDAY

Gerald groaned as he scrubbed his hands over his face. What was he going to do today? Was he out of a job? Why hadn’t Jim remembered him?

Without even checking what they were, he dejectedly threw on the clothes that were lying at the foot of his bed. He scratched at his head, not noticing that the brown locks were receding back into his scalp, fading to a bleached blonde that looked like it had been improperly applied out of a bottle.

Black ink swirled down his right arm in a full sleeve of tats that spread from his elbow to his wrist, while various other tattoos bloomed into life on his left arm, his back, and his thigh. He felt a sharp pain in his chin as a cleft was dented into it, and a scratchy growth of stubble burst forth from his cheeks.

He strained to remember what he had just been thinking about. Jim something. The gym? No, he couldn’t hit up the gym yet today, he had that job interview at the construction site. He was pissed that his gig at the movie theater had fallen through (who knew giving away free candy to hot girls wasn’t kosher?) and this was what it had come to. That was a cushy job! He hadn’t had to do shit! He could just collect his check and live at the gym all day. You gotta do what you gotta do, though. 

His foot tapped while he sat in the waiting room as the interviewer finished up with another candidate.

He figured the interview went well! He turned on the charm and was sure he’d impressed the dude with his deadlift stats. He was sure he’d passed with flying colors, so he’d get to do that follow-up interview with the foreman, Albert Macias. Whoop-dee-doo.

He gave the construction office the finger as he headed out to the gym. At the bar afterward, he tried to use the credit card he’d swiped from an open bag in the locker room, but it was declined. When he angrily told the bartender to run it again, a burly dude had stepped in and asked him to take a breath and step outside. This turned that fire of rage into a full-on inferno.

“I’m sick of people telling me what to do, shitbrick,” he growled. He shoved the man, sending him toppling over the bar and sending several glasses shattering to the floor. As the bouncer was carrying him out, Gerald heard the bartender talking to the unconscious man “Macias, you alright? Al?”

Fuck. So much for that job. Whatever. He'd find something. He was confident about that.

TUESDAY

Hungover, Gerald crawled out of bed, throwing on his clothes before stumbling into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Through his bleary eyes, he couldn’t really see that his hair growing down into a set of hideous blunt cut bangs while his cheeks became hollowed out. The spare apartment bathroom he was in seemed to expand as the walls spread further apart, becoming a luxury condo.

He blinked and cleared his vision, flexing in the mirror and admiring his tats.

He scratched his head. This didn't feel right. What the fuck was he doing in this fancy-ass place again? Oh, that’s right. His boss had let him crash here because their shipment hadn’t come in on time. He’d have to run fifteen extra bricks today, but the amount of money he was gonna make off them was more than worth it.

He collected the package and exited the apartment, making sure the lock clicked shut behind him. Realizing he’d left his handwritten list of addresses back at his apartment (he was supposed to memorize the list and burn it - no digital footprint - but his memory was shit). As he walked, the neighborhood around him became rougher and more graffitied-up. 

The single bulb lit up the dusty, cramped confines of his apartment. He dropped the package on the floor, and one of the bricks burst open, sending a spray of white powder all over the floor. Well, he knew one way to clean that up. He shuffled it into a straight line and snorted it, sending a thrill of pleasure up and down every one of his nerve endings.

Forget the deliveries. Maybe he should call up his buds and they could party hard tonight. The vague thought that he might get in trouble over this flickered in the back of his brain, but he was sure everything would be fine. In fact, he was confident about it.

WEDNESDAY

“Gerald? That’s a pansy-ass name for someone like you. What’s your street name, buddy? Let me guess. Something that you think makes you sound way tougher than you are. Grizz? Slash?” 

The interrogating cop sneered at him from across the table, throwing his ID onto the metal surface.

“It’s Snake,” he spit. He couldn’t fucking believe Jack had betrayed him like this. They had agreed to rob the bank together, and it wasn’t his fault Jack had gotten caught. Fucking snitch-ass plea deal-taking motherfucker. If he ever got out of here, Jack was gonna be fucking dead meat. Fuck, he owed the boss so much money. Wasn’t the first thing he learned not to get high on his own supply? Fucking idiot mistake.

And now he was here. Who knows for how long. They sure had a lot of charges they were trying to make stick, and it’s not like the boss was gonna get one of his lawyers in here after what Snake had done. At least he gave them a hell of a mug shot though. Those horny, lonely women who flocked to the defense of inmates weren’t gonna know what hit ‘em. He was confident about that.

#Commission #Criminal #Bad Boy #Office #Wish

[salmonskinrolltf]

Story Index

Original Stories

Anniversary Present Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 - a squabbling gay couple fall under the thrall of a time-traveling watch Ben Gay Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 - frat boys in a snowed-in cabin discover a mysterious ointment that makes any body part irresistibly ache for the touch of male flesh The Breeder Curse Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 - gay men are cursed to become were-straights Don't Read This! - a Tumblr curse turns a straight man into the last celebrity saved on his phone The Grind - While working from home, Todd finds himself drawn to the sounds of the skaters in the alley Grindr Roulette - A gay couple selects random Tribes for their profiles on Grindr to create a transformative hookup Happy Hour - A preppy couple celebrating their anniversary is annoyed by the partying frat bros at the bar Indian and in Love - Kyle becomes the perfect partner for his stoner friend Jack's New Roommate Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 - Jack's slobby roommate is improved upon Like a Light Switch - Charlie Puth becomes more like the slobby, lazy straight man he should be Nerdflix Phase 1 | Phase 2 | Phase 3 - an athlete and his nerdy roommate swap lifestyles Shower Scene - Scream 2022's Wes Hicks is offered an unusual way to escape Ghostface Soulmates - Two boyfriends try to make each other perfect, one by changing the past and one by changing the future Soulmates 2 - Two roommates use the same method to try and make each other perfect Third - a couple has a threesome for their tenth anniversary, but which two of the three is the real couple?

Original Shorts

The Comments Section - a young man has a hairy experience on OnlyFans Heat Conservation - a magic beanie changes a young man's life Roll the Die Shorts - readers requested transformations and rolled the die. Roll a 6? Get exactly what you want. Roll a 1? Get the opposite. Everything in between? Well, we'll see.

Office DILF | Athletic Cuban | Couch Potato | Hairy Beanpole | Future Daddy | Tom Holland | David Ayer | More Size | Simu Liu | Korean Star | College Wrestler | Playboy | Indian Construction Worker | Needy Bear | Surfer | Himbo Bad Boy | Massive | College Nerd | Wrong Target | Swagger

Be Kind Rewind Shorts - New Roll the Die stories where readers get pulled into a movie/TV universe of their choice

Glee | Wolverine

Commissioned Stories

The American Way - a gay Frenchman becomes a conservative American El Bailarin - a gay ballet dancer discovers a passion for Latin dance and machismo Con-fidence - an office worker wishes to be more intimidating and gets exactly what he asks for Joining the Team Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 - an athletic training student ends up with baseball skills (and a fetish for facial hair) Light a Candle - a young man who fantasizes about swapping with a middle-aged daddy should be careful what he wishes for Magic Mustache Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 - a high school graduate buys a fake mustache to look older before college, and it might work too well Sir - an alpha jock applying for a job gets an unexpected offer that he can't refuse Under Construction - a smart college grad can't get a job at a tech company, but the construction department might have an opening Walk a Mile - a xenophobic Russian gets what's coming to him

[salmonskinrolltf]

Magic Mustache - Chapter 1

A chapter commissioned by @beardobession:

Cam’s mom had asked if he wanted to get grad photos taken, but he shuddered at the thought that the way he looked, even at 18 years old, would be commemorated for all time. He looked nothing like the “barely legal” dudes he watched in porn videos all the time, with bulging muscles covered in hair, even the ones billed as twinks capable of light stubble, but most bursting forth with manly facial hair designs from goatees to mustaches to full-on beards. He had a sneaking suspicion that most of them weren’t actually 18, but that didn’t prevent him from being jealous.

That’s why his finger was hovering over the “Add to Cart” button on an Amazon product called Magic Mustache, which claimed - under the banner “Barbers Hate This!” - to be such a realistic-looking false mustache that you could fool anyone in your life into thinking you grew it yourself. Cam wasn’t trying to gaslight anyone or nothing, but last year all the boys in his small Virginia town had participated in Movember and he was the only one who didn’t sprout a single hair. He was hoping to be able to make himself a new man when he started college in Boston in the Fall, and maybe a few pictures with the mustache would convince people he was able to grow one but had merely elected to shave it off.

Fuck it. He added it to the cart and made the purchase.

Ding dong!

He ran to the front door and opened it, expecting to see one of his friends. Instead, a package was lying on the doorstep, with a Magic Mustache logo emblazoned on the top. No fucking way. He had just gotten Amazon Prime the other day and hadn't used it yet, but he didn’t think it worked that fast. 

He rushed upstairs and ripped open the package, dumping the contents onto his unmade bed. It all seemed simple enough. He applied the provided spirit gum to the back of the strip of false hair and affixed it onto his upper lip. He let it dry for five minutes before he rushed into his bathroom to check it out.

He looked… idiotic. The mustache looked like a bad prop from an elementary school play, the stiff bristles looking unnaturally shiny and incredibly fake. Tears welling in his eyes, he reached up to remove the waste of money from his lip. It wouldn’t budge at first, so he tugged harder. And harder. Eventually, in a rush, the whole thing was ripped from his lip, leaving a small cut behind where the gum had pulled at his skin. He tasted copper.

He crumpled a piece of toilet paper and held it to his cut, dejectedly throwing the now ruined Magic Mustache into the trash can. 

The next morning, still mad, he loaded up Amazon so he could leave a one star review. When he pressed enter, a pop-up window read “Holding review for 7 days. This seller has requested that users only review their product after the one-week return window has closed. You will be contacted after one week and have the opportunity to edit and confirm posting of this product review. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

Frustrated, he decided to open up the selfie camera and take a picture of his cut to add to his review when he was finally allowed to publish it. But… the cut wasn’t there. He poked and prodded at his upper lip, wondering if the lighting was wrong for the camera to pick it up. But no, the cut had simply vanished. His fingertips still felt something off though, and he realized they were scraping against just a few light pinpricks of stubble.

Holy shit! He rushed to the bathroom and flipped over the reversible mirror his mom always used to pluck her eyebrows. They were tiny, but they were really there! He had stubble! Just a sparse smattering of dots, and who knew if they would grow in any further, but holy shit! They were fucking there! Cam let out a whoop, using every bit of air in the lungs that had won him the hog calling contest at the county fair three years in a row.

He poked at the stubble again, enjoying the unfamiliar feeling. His dick grew stiff in his jeans, imagining what he might look like with a full, legitimate, I-grew-it-myself, honest-to-goodness mustache. He palmed his cock, his body surging with pleasure. He reached back up to rub his lip again, only… there was more stubble now. Not, like, a lot. But he could have sworn there was only a thin strip right below his nose, where Clark Gable might have grown his mustache. But now the rough dots had extended about halfway down his lip. Was it… Could it possibly be…

He decided to spend the day at home, poking at his upper lip every 20 seconds to see if any new growth had appeared. His dick quickly deflated when he realized this was going nowhere, but the energy from his initial excitement was still coursing through his body. He felt fidgety, pumping with adrenaline, and he decided sitting in one place was not the move.

Maybe it was actually time to use the gym membership his older brother had ironically gifted him for Christmas. He felt like he could run 18 miles. He walked to their local gym, which was just a couple blocks away, next to the cigar store. He always thought that was an ironic juxtaposition, but he found himself lingering in front of the shop window a little longer than necessary, wondering what one of those huge stogies might taste like. When he arrived at the gym, he flashed his card at the bored looking teenager behind the reception desk. He hopped on the first free elliptical and began to pump back and forth, enjoying the freeing feeling of the air flowing past him. 

He almost smacked himself in the face when the dude walked in.

Boasting a haircut with the sides shaved and longer, floppy locks on top, as well as a thick beard with a poofy mustache, this guy was Cam’s perfect guy. His nightly fantasy. The kind of guy he could wake up to every morning. Fuck, he was tenting his basketball shorts.

Luckily, the elliptical he had chosen had a wall on one side and another machine strategically blocking the other, so nobody could see his boner as long as he was on the machine. But he couldn’t leave or do anything else until it died down, or he would melt into a puddle of shame. He decided to just pretend everything was fine and keep moving. His hard dick felt a little weird bobbing against the inside of his shorts, but not bad.

He was hoping his boner would go away quickly so he could make his escape, but the dude took up residence on a stationary bike right across from Cam, giving him a perfect view of the way the hairs of his mustache rippled every time he exhaled with the exertion of his workout.

Cam wondered what kissing that mustache would feel like. Hell, he wondered what having that mustache would feel like. He tried to imagine his brand new stubble eventually growing into something that luxurious and supple. He thought about the tiny dots spreading, eventually claiming his entire lip, top to bottom. He imagined the follicles germinating, tiny hairs curling from them, straightening up and reaching for the sun. At first they would be entirely separate stalks of stiff hair, but as they lengthened and softened, they wouldn’t be able to help tangling into one another, softly brushing against themselves, sending a tingle down into his skin. If he closed his mouth, he would be able to feel the bristles tickling the sensitive spread of his lower lip.

He could almost feel his lip buzzing with the image he had conjured in his brain. His dick was abuzz that whole time, feeling more and more needy and stiff with sexual tension. He decided to derail his train of thought and focus on what classes he was going to choose for his electives in the coming semester. Eventually, his boner subsided and he subtly adjusted his underwear to find a place for his now soft dick.

That’s when the hot guy got off his bike and walked right up to Cam’s elliptical.

“Nice handlebar,” the stranger said.

Cam was confused. Was this dude complimenting the handlebars of the elliptical he was holding onto? He supposed the grips were really nice and had a good ergonomic design, but it wasn’t like it was his machine or anything. He wasn’t sure what the guy was after, but someone hot was talking to him, so he just smiled awkwardly and said, “uh… thanks.”

The other man smirked. “The name’s Duke. Maybe I’ll see you around!” With that, he strode over to the back of the gym, disappearing behind the door to the pool area. Cam felt his jaw gaping open and snapped it shut, embarrassed. It took another 30 minutes of elliptical to stifle the boner that had re-emerged at this interaction, so it took 32 minutes before he noticed something weird in the gym mirror as he was leaving. 

He had a mustache. A thick stripe of brown hair completely engulfed his upper lip, curling up at the ends thanks to the hairs’ sheer length and volume. He ran his fingers through it, the soft bristles caressing his skin and parting from the movement like he was Moses with the red sea. He gave the curled ends a little tug and felt a slight shudder of pain roll through his face. Fuck, this was real. Could the Magic Mustache actually have been… magic?

Continue to Chapter 2

#Mustache #Commission #Masculinization

[salmonskinrolltf]

Third

Sean (left) and Phil (right) loved to invite a third into their bedroom every anniversary, to have fun but also to remind themselves of the commitment they made to one another on every other night of the year. This year was extra special: Their tenth wedding anniversary. They had gotten matching tattoos of each other’s names in celebration. “Sean!” on Phil’s right hip and “Phil!” on Evan’s left (he always called him Phil, never Phillip). Both names were followed by a glittering blue exclamation point to commemorate the movie they saw on their first date: Mamma Mia! Their tattoo appointment was technically a month ago, but they wanted to make sure that their new ink had healed properly before bringing a strange man (and his bodily fluids) into their house.

Their third this time was Evan (middle), a studly blonde who caught their eye on Scruff. Things were going great, but Phil noticed his wedding band had slipped off his finger some time in between sucking Sean’s cock and eating Evan’s ass. It was OK, this happened from time to time when he worked up a sweat. He had always found it. He and Sean would joke it was a metaphor for their marriage: they always found their way back home to each other.

Phil was right, too. His ring wasn’t missing at all. In fact, when Evan grabbed a fistful of pillow while letting out a wild moan, his finger had lined up perfectly with the spot where Phil’s ring had fallen and the gold band, sized for a finger slightly larger than his, got caught on his fingertip and eventually slipped down past both knuckles when he lifted his hand again. He didn’t notice. He was a little too busy pumping in and out of Sean’s ass to pay attention to the sudden coldness around his ring finger.

After they had all cum and collapsed in a tangle of limbs upon the bed, the three of them started to get dressed, idly chatting. The collection of various garments from various far-flung corners of the room took some time, but eventually all three were dressed. The chatting continued, but had taken on a more awkward, tense edge. Why wasn’t Evan leaving? Phil didn’t want to be rude, but usually their thirds left right after the sex was over and everyone was cleaned up. He caught Sean’s eye and raised his eyebrows, trying to indicate that he should say something. Sean was always the one who said something, when something needed to be said. Sean obviously took the hint and cleared his throat. Thank God, Phil was so awkward about handling these things.

Sean said, “Well, this has been so fun, but it’s about time for us to turn in.”

Phil chimed in, saying, “Yeah, ten years will really tire you out!”

He laughed, but Sean didn’t laugh with him. It’s not like it was a good joke, but usually they were a united front. They would always “yes-and” each other in situations like this. But Sean’s face was very “no” right now. His mouth thinned into a stern line. “Are you kidding? Our marriage isn’t anything to joke about.”

Phil paled. “I- I’m really sorry, babe, I didn’t mean to-“

Sean cut him off. “Don’t go calling me pet names, man, we just met tonight. I really think it’s time you should leave, Phillip.”

Evan put a hand on Sean’s shoulder as if backing him up, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, Phillip, this has been great, but we’re not interested in keeping this going beyond one night.”

Phil was flabbergasted. His eyes began to well with tears. “Sean, why are you calling me that? And Evan, who the fuck do you think you are? Is this some kind of joke?”

Sean frowned. “I’m calling you by your name, Phillip. That’s what it said on the profile, isn’t it?” He opened up his phone and turned it around, showing Phil a screenshot of a Scruff profile featuring a shirtless photo of him and the screen name “Fill-up” right underneath it. The bio was pretty simple, reading “yo, the name’s Phillip. just here looking for a good time.”

Phillip’s jaw dropped open. “You Photoshopped a whole profile just to play a prank on me? One that doesn’t capitalize the words at the beginning of a sentence, no less!”

Sean responded, his tone icy. “I didn’t Photoshop shit. Now get out of our apartment. We want to celebrate our anniversary in peace.” He wrapped a protective arm around Evan. Phillip felt like he wanted to scream, but he kept his tone ever so calm. “I don’t know what’s going on here, Sean, but this isn’t funny at all. You’re the one making jokes about our marriage, and I don’t like it one bit. I’m only going to ask you this once. Please stop.”

Sean laughed. “OUR marriage? What on Earth are you talking about? We just met you tonight!”

Phillip was sick of this shit. He couldn’t believe Sean was forcing him to play this card, but he just wanted out of this ridiculous prank. “If we’re not married, then how do you explain this?” He lifted up his shirt and lowered his pants ever so slightly, revealing the tattoo above his hip.

Sean stared at him in stony silence before saying. “Put your clothes back on, Phillip.”

Phillip’s voice cracked as he gestured toward his hip. “Don’t you see the tattoo?!” But he realized he was pointing to a red heart and a black spade inked on the skin beneath his belt line. A matching diamond and club graced the other side. “What the fuck is going on here? I had… Where’s the Mamma Mia! tattoo?”

Evan gave Sean a nervous glance and muttered, “Should I call the police?”

Sean patted his shoulder and said, “I’ve got this. Don’t worry.” He turned to Phillip. “You and I both know that you’re talking about this tattoo.” He lowered his belt and showed off his hip, which read “Evan!” in blazing blue. He gestured to Evan. “Show him yours.” Evan gingerly lowered the waistband of his joggers and revealed the name “Sean!” tatted across his hip. Sean turned back to Phillip, hands held out in a placating gesture. “I think you’re just confused. How about we get you some water and an Uber home.”

Phillip stared daggers at his husband. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. How had all of their tattoos changed without any of them leaving the room? He distinctly remembered having that blue name on his hip… Only, why had he said Mamma Mia!, again? He’d never seen that movie and couldn’t remember a single thing about the poster. In fact, he hated musicals. He wasn’t a movie guy in general, he preferred more physical activities. But he was still pissed. “I don’t need an Uber home,” he said through gritted teeth. “I AM home. If this man is your husband, then why is his stubble like that? Every time I thought about shaving my beard, you begged me to reconsider. You love running your fingers through it, nibbling at it… cumming on it.”

Sean said, “No need to be vulgar, Phillip. And what beard are you talking about?”

Phillip cried out, “This one!” He patted his cheeks, only to find rough stubble scraping against his palms. As he watched, Evan’s shorn facial hair blossomed, the patchy cheeks quickly filling in with thick discs of hair that surged toward his mouth and down his chin, leaving him with the look of someone who hasn’t shaved in a week. Then, all at once, the follicles burst forth in a torrent of activity, blonde hairs emerging in a thick carpet that tangled into each other and became matted with post-coital sweat. Evan’s nervous panting caused the newly fluffy hairs of his mustache to flutter slightly with every breath.

Phillip’s mind reeled. He suddenly remembered trimming his stubble this morning to keep it at the perfect length. He was in the bathroom right over there. He WAS in that bathroom, right? He felt disoriented, but kept arguing his case with his husband. “OK, if you are really married to Evan, then why doesn’t his ring fit properly?”

The ring, which hung loose around Evan’s thin fingers, glinted in the lamplight. Phillip blinked his eyes slightly in the glare and when he looked again, the ring was fit snugly around Evan’s finger. Had his fingers… expanded? Clearly whatever had happened to them was happening everywhere else, too. Evan’s hands and wrists looked a little meatier, and Phillip swore he could see his pecs softening and rounding ever so slightly. Evan’s stomach also seemed to loosen, swelling slightly with fat as if he was chugging a gallon of water.

Sean scowled. “Don’t be rude. I don’t know who told you Evan had to get his ring resized, but he’s sensitive about gaining weight.”

Evan gave Sean a peck on the cheek. “Don’t worry, babe. That was a long time ago. Your cooking is too good not to ask for seconds every night.”

Phillip felt the air shifting around him this time, and looked down to see that the slight paunch of his belly was sucking back, as if he was tightening his gut. He lifted his shirt to see a set of six cobblestone abs appear like submerged rocks on a beach as the tide is going out. His pecs also became firmer, his pert nipples straining against the fabric of his cotton tee.

He loved the way tight shirts felt when they had to contend with his muscular form. That’s why he never went shirtless when he was working out, even in his home gym. Which was… here, right? He tried to conjure up a mental map of his apartment so he could remember where the gym was, but he was actually a little fuzzy on the details of the rooms that weren’t the entryway, the bathroom, and this bedroom. Didn’t Sean have an office set up in a room somewhere? He did, right? And he remembered the kitchen, he thought. Either on the West or the East side of the apartment. Phillip specifically requested an island for the kitchen when they moved in. Or was it marble countertops? He couldn’t quite remember.

He made one last desperate plea. “Sean. Why are you doing this? What about our love? Our commitment?”

Sean sighed. “Phillip, when we said no strings attached. You seemed excited about that. What changed?”

Phillip racked his brain. What HAD changed? He thought back over the past couple hours. After he got home from work, he went grocery shopping with Sean - no, no. With his roommate Darren. Darren wanted to fuck that night, but Phillip blew him off because he had a better offer from Scruff. With… This married couple. Evan and Sean. He remembered jerking off to the nude pictures they had sent him while sitting on the toilet in the bathroom, getting himself primed and ready for the night but also making sure he wouldn’t cum too quickly. Nothing worse than premature ejaculation in the middle of a threesome, he reflected. He was hooking up with this other couple last week and one of them came within three minutes and then asked him to leave. He hadn’t even gotten his dick out of his pants yet! No, the last thing he wanted to be was a bad third.

So what happened next? He had a nice dinner with Sean - No, Jesus Christ, why was his brain stuck on this hot rando? He grabbed dinner at the plant-based burger joint across the street before snagging an Uber and getting freaky with this couple, who were currently both giving him the stinkeye. As if he hadn’t just given them the time of their lives.

Fuck this. Phillip grabbed his satchel and slung it around his shoulder. “Well, that’s gonna be it for me,” he said, flashing them the peace sign. “Thanks for the fuck! You probably won’t be seeing me around.” He swiveled on his heel and headed straight down the hallway toward the front door, deciding between several dating apps with glowing red notification circles before eventually opening up Grindr to see if that slutty wannabe jock in his neighborhood needed someone to put him through his push-up drills again.

Phillip caught one last glimpse of Sean and Evan in the mirror by the front door. Evan seemed to be sighing with relief and squeezing Sean into a huge hug. Sean kissed him like they were in the cover of a romance novel, his hand cupping his husband’s lush blonde beard.

As the door slammed behind him, he could have sworn he heard Sean mutter, “thank god he finally left, that guy was crazy.”

#Threesome #Couple #Personality Change #Weight Gain #Weight Drain #Beard #Tattoo