Josh was a straight A, 4.0 GPA top student. But he always sort of envied the lazy stoner kids who barely put in any effort and hung out together, smoking their strange-smelling weed. Finally, with study sessions stressing him out, he went up with them and asked them if he could hang out. They were very happy to get a new friend. Of course, after a few tokes, he started feeling funny. He was hungry and felt so lazy and slow. Every bite of snacks made his belly bulge…and his crotch, too. He could feel his smarts and intelligence draining away and replaced with laid-back happiness. “Duuude, what’s in this stuff? You guys are starting to look like skunks…” “Hehehe, should we tell him?” “Sssh! You’ll spoil the surprise! Wait until he’s one of us for good…”
Josh was scoping out frats to join when he would be becoming a freshman in a few months. As a dorky gamer nerd, he really had no serious intention of ending up in Bigfoot Frat. After all, that place was only known for being full of big, hairy, smelly bigfoot jocks who just partied all the time and were terrible at academics. The exact opposite of him! Still, while he was being shown around, he started to feel pretty weird. The rank sweaty wet-dog stench of muscular bigfoot jocks was starting to seem a lot less gross. He was even starting to get into it. He tried to shake off those thoughts, but then the tour guide sat himself down in a beanbag chair and lifted those enormous, rough, dirty feet. So big and musky and gritty. He couldn’t resist, as he found himself drooling and getting closer to those massive feet. “Duuude, you’ll make a great new jock, bro!”, the bigfoot said with a chuckle. Josh could only grin and nod as he felt dirty hair grow all over him, his skin become rough and thick, and his feet bulge and thicken and tear through his socks…
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“Your next dude” Jake shouted as he and Mike pointed at you.
“Next…..for what?” You ask nervously as your usual biology club friends were all dressed in camo and fake animal skin costumes, drinking the same beer you had just taken a drink from. You and your bio club members had just passed a big test and decided to unwind with a little party, just some music, movies, and beer. You just got back from the bathroom to find your friends bigger and in these strange outfits and had just taken your first sip of beer. The guys were ooking and grunting as they scratched themselves “next to join tribe” Jake said in a simplifying language and deeper voice.
Suddenly you felt strange as your muscles ached and grew out. Your skinny frame swelling into big almost jock like proportions. You felt intense itching as thicker, darker hair began to grow all over your body. You looked down to see your pants morph into a pair of leopard print shorts, your shirt reduced to a leopard print strap across your chest, exposing…no showing off…your strong, thick, hairy chest. You suddenly felt the urge to drink more of the beer as you started to feel the war paint haphazardly smear itself across your chest. You were becoming the war chief of a new band of jungle men warriors. All thoughts of math and science fading and giving way to survival and hunting instincts. Soon the jungle beer will warp reality around you and your dorm will become your new jungle home. You were next to join the tribe and with you it will be unstoppable!
The nerd sat in Coach’s office watching the spiral, and within ten minutes he was already so deep under that he didn’t even notice the injection. By the time he woke up, he was a total jock bro without a care in the world.
“Hey bro, do you think you have what it takes to be a firefighter?”
You stop dead in your tracks. Next to the rows and rows of folding tables set up for career day is a big red fire truck. But instead of free pens and buttons to entice you in, three half-naked firefighters stand laughing, rubbing their thick muscles through their loose handing fireproof jackets.
This has to be some sort of joke, you think to yourself with a scoff. One of the meat heads approaches you with a hunky swagger. “So,” he asks again, “you think you have what it takes?”
It’s been a pretty boring day overall, so you decide to have some fun. “Alright,” you say with a sarcastic smile, “tell me: what does it ‘take’ to be a firefighter?”
“Well,” the guy says, “first, you’ve got to be jacked. Like… really jacked.” As he says this, you begin to feel your clothes grow itchy, like they don’t seem to fit quite right.
“Yeah,” you say trying to keep an air of confidence, “and what else?”
“Well,” he continues, “you’ve gotta have tough skin. Tough enough to withstand serious heat.” The itching is insatiable now, and you look down to see a rough callous develop over your hands, which are now bulging with muscle. You frantically look around the room, but no one else seems to be noticing the muscles now begging to escape from your tight clothes.
“You’ve got to have a lot of upper body strength,” he says before you can stop him, and suddenly your arms grow sore, biceps the size of baby heads bursting at the seams of your shirt. “And good legs…” he says, sending your thighs tearing through your jeans. “Not to mention a good core.” And with that, your chest expands into two square pecs and a rack of abs directly below.
“Is that it??” you plead with him, struggling to contain your new body as it continues to grow per his suggestions.
“Not yet,” the guy continues, “you’ve also got to know a thing or two about firefighting. Not much else though, you don’t want your brain getting too crammed if you know what I mean.” You try and resist the overwhelming feeling of numbness that envelops your mind. You feel memories of training and lifting with your fighter fighter bros begin to replace those of your friends, family, and education.
You, moan, trying to resist as a new feeling overtakes your body. “No… please…”
“Oh yeah! And one last thing. You’ve gotta be pretty hung. It can get pretty boring at the station with nothing to do. Some of us like to fool around a little bit. Wouldn’t hurt to have a 9 inch dick.”
You know it’s coming this time. The testosterone, the heat flooding your pelvic region. You look down just in time to see a full, 9 inch penis burst forth from your briefs and unleash a wave of cum all over the floor. With it escapes all your knowledge of your past life; you’re nothing more than one of those meathead firefighters now, nothing else on your mind by saving lives and sucking dick.
“Here,” says the guy as he leads you over back to the truck and away from the crowds, “lets get you into something more comfortable shall we?”
You nod stupidly, eagerly awaiting the minute you can get him into bed with your thick new cock, both your muscle bodies rubbing sweaty together for hours. As he slips you into your firefighter’s coat, you know you’ve chosen the right career. Even if it wasn’t exactly your choice…
He should never have opened that strange mp3 from the mysterious email. When he heard the thump of dance music spill out of his phone, he was irresistibly compelled to start dancing, right there in his room. Before he knew it, he had torn off his clothes and was thrashing around like the world’s sluttiest go-go boy.
Caught up completely in the beat of the music, he never even noticed his body becoming lithe and lean, his skin turning flawless and silky smooth, his facial features rearranging themselves into those of a chiseled male model.
A few hours later, the Club’s van came by to collect him, and take him to start his new life as an exotic dancer and rent boy. He didn’t care – by that time, he lived only for the beat.
Oliver looked down at his phone. He had just gotten a text from a number he didnt know. It was a gif of a hypnosis spiral and even though he opened the text and only quickly glanced at it he was now locked onto it. Then the texts started to come in.
“Why are you wearing a shirt bro?” And suddenly Oliver began to ask himself the same question. He was a little overweight and very pale, he was always ashamed of himself and very body shy, but suddenly he couldnt remember any of that, the question just kept repeating itself like an echo in his mind. Why was he wearing a shirt? He was having trouble thinking of a good answer, it was a hot day and the shirt was making him feel sweaty and constricted so he took it off, not even bothering to hold onto it, he just abandoned it on the sidewalk.
“Don’t you wanna show off your boxers?” The next text said. That was weird Oliver usually hated people who sagged, he thought it made people look so dumb and ghetto, but as he looked at his waist band he wonder what it would look like. He tugged his shorts down, even redoing the belt so they sat that way. Instead of his lagend of zelda boxer briefs though there was a silly pair of purple Calvin Klein boxers. The purple contrasting nicely against his tan…wait what tan?!
“Nice kicks dude” the next text said and as Oliver looked down he saw his boring shoes had morphed into a big clunky pair of size 12 Nike air force 1s. Since when was he wearing those?
“Huhuh since always bruh! I never take these babies off!” He suddenly shouted in a deeper dumber voice than his usual.
“Your one hot skater dude!” The next text said as he felt his sick grow longer and thicker and stiffer in his shorts as his mind was flooded with skater knowledge along with dicks and tits as he became bisexual, a stark contrast to the practically asexual nerd he once was. His face became more mature as a chin strap beard grew, his hair buzzed shorter.
“Nice hat” the next text read as a black baseball hat formed on his head, twisting itself backwards and draining out his intelligence and old, shy personality.
“You know it bro! I’m Ollie, the fucking skater king yo!” The new Ollie texted the mysterious number before putting away his phone and going jogging to the skate park, feeling his pecs bounce as he ran and the sweat getting stuck in the thick hair on his flat stomach as he went to join his new friends.
My heart stopped when I had come home to find my partner, the man I had married, with another guy. They weren’t in bed or anything. It was nothing nearly as simple. Gary was sitting next to the guy on the couch. A blank look was in his eyes with what seemed to be a tired smile on his face. What bothered me though was the fact that the man Gary was listlessly perched next to was his ex-partner, Luke, whom he had a romantic history with that stretched out to be at least twice as long as ours. My heart stopped because I knew. I knew Luke still had a very unique hold over Gary as well.
“You are not welcome here!” I menaced the well-dressed man in a blazer, already ready to throw the man out. When he turned to me from my disturbingly unphased partner I had expected to see some semblance of shock or surprise on his face.Instead Luke’s smile revealed that he was just as unphased as Gary, despite my briskly striding towards him with clenched fists.
I was within swinging distance of the smug man when he calmly said, “Relax, cutie pupper.”
Steve was excited to
see our ad for a musician position at our new amusement park. He had only
played a few gigs in the local pubs, but he was desperate for a big break and
we certainly value spirit. Besides, our flyer promised he would gain more
experience and we assured him he would get a lot of it including a whole lot
more exposure.
We said we really didn’t need him to sing but he
prepared a song he wrote anyway showing off his melodic voice and clever lyrics. So we
said he could give it a try as long as it showed us everything he’s got.
He started off all fidgety and nervous. Playfully
innocent is a plus, but high anxiety isn’t exactly what we’re looking for.
It was a lovely tune about love and heartache,
but the first mistake came on the second chorus. He slipped up on a chord and
then fumbled with lyrics, surprising even himself – it was his own song after
all. Red in the face he mumbled an apology “Im so so sorry” … “I was so
prepared. I swear this never happens” And then despite himself he let out a
small slow laugh- exactly what we were looking for.
We let him start over and sure enough,
ecstatic and grateful, his whole posture relaxed as he took the song from the
start.He seemed to be getting through easier this
time around, but it didn’t take him as long to slip up. It didn’t help that his
arms were a little thicker and his guitar a little smaller. He laughed this
time “Oh shit. Sorry… I uh. I don’t know what came over me.” He figited with his shirt. An extra inch or two in height and his mid-section was showing.
We let him start over. His smile beamed even
brighter. The words were different this time. A lot simpler as
he forgot a few lines and inserted a few new ones, a little more about the physical
and… raw side of love.
“Aww fuck, sorry” he laughed goofily, trying
to reposition his guitar as his shoulders got wider. He was a good 3 inches
taller and his arms were filling out his sleeves nicely. With his thighs
straining his jeans it was also obvious that while his guitar shrank his other equipment was
getting a whole lot bigger.
He kept going, absently stringing his shrinking
guitar with a goofy grin as his body packed on muscle and he forgot his old
words entirely- his deep voice couldn’t hit the same notes anyway. Eventually
his shirt couldn’t handle his flaring traps and bis and split apart at seams.
“Huhu fuck yeah” And with one quick thrust of his
hips his straining jeans also gave way and he ended his set.
Comfortably naked
and golden tanned, “What d’ya think? he laughed dumbly. “And like I can totally play
more than one instrument” he grinned, his mini guitar barely hiding the thick piece
of meat swinging behind it.
And he was exactly the entertainment we we’re
looking for.
Hopefully we can get more applicants with the
same potential. Still have a few positions to fill out before opening.
So you want to be a dumb stoner skaterboy, do you? I guess that explains why you made skater culture the subject of the paper you’re writing for your sociology class. Level with me, here, just how fucking turned on did you get when you went to your local skate park and asked some of the guys standing around if they wanted to answer a few questions on sociology?
How hard did your cock get when one of the guys looked at you, chuckled like the only thing that was in his head was smoke and stupidity, and asked, “Sure, dude, but like, what’s saucyology?”
How close to the edge did you get when another answered, “Dude, I think that’s like, the science of sauce.”
Did you cream your pants when the first guy you talked to lit up and said, “Oh, man! Fuck yeah! I loooove sauce.” You noticed it, didn’t you? They way he surreptitiously rubbed his crotch. Let’s face it, you couldn’t resist looking. That skaterboy cock throbbing down one of the guy’s pants legs. Your cock was trying to break out of your pants, wasn’t it?
You tried to explain what sociology was, didn’t you? But you couldn’t focus on what you were saying. Don’t worry. I’m sure they couldn’t focus on what you were saying, too. You couldn’t help but imagine being like them, couldn’t you? Just be laid back and chill, carefree, and too stupid to have a problem in the world other than where to find cock and where to get your next joint. Well that, and the occasional really weird munchies.
But you panicked. As much as you loved the fantasy, you weren’t quite ready to give up your promising academic career and what you believed would be a great professional one after that. Having your name all over the press was a bigger motivator. So you ran away after “interviewing” those guys, which mostly involved staring at their crotches and trying to deflect their attempts to get you to come home with them or have a quickie with them behind one of the nearby bushes.
Needless to say, you got plenty of masturbation material to last you for a while. And just because you couldn’t indulge the whole fantasy didn’t mean that you couldn’t at least indulge some of it. At least that was your justification for buying a snapback, knee pads, and a longboard which you took with you everywhere you went. Oh, that and replacing all of your underwear with jockstraps.
And then you went on with your life. Pretending that everything at the skate park hadn’t happened. Going to uni in the morning. Jerking off to the fantasy of being too dumb to read. That was how it went. At least until you realized that you had been blowing off your paper and now, you desperately needed to get responses to your survey.
So you went back to the skate park. This time on your long board. Wearing your snapback and your knee pads. The guys welcomed you into their circle this time, even though they still turned up their noses at the talk of science. You even laughed along dumbly to one of their jokes, not that you ever realized it.
Well, as you handed out sheets of paper to be filled in. The first few guys that finished were surprisingly eloquent in their answers, but they also didn’t look too close to the “skater boy” fantasy that you had always had. You could see some of the guys clearly struggling, but that was fine. You had specifically set aside this time to account for that.
One of your dudes from the first time you had come to the park came up to you after throwing away his paper in disgust. He sat beside you. Told you the words were too big for him. That he hoped you weren’t angry as he placed a hand on your thigh. How hard did your cock get, I wonder? This was the kind of guy you were looking for. Dumb as rocks. This was your fantasy.
The two of you sat there for a little while. Just observing. Then he lit a joint. You wanted to tell him to take it elsewhere, but you got a whiff of what he was smoking and it smelled so good you couldn’t find the heart to tell him to go. When he offered it to you, you didn’t even think twice about taking a long drag from it.
You felt a tingle run up your spine. Your cock throbbed in your pants. It was like the smoke was filling your whole body, especially your head. You felt hazy. Your thoughts were still there, but they felt distant and slippery. You were afraid, but it felt like the fear was someone else’s. It felt so good you took another drag and your thoughts slipped further away.
You didn’t even notice your companion lean up against you, whispering in your ear, over and over again, “Breathe in stupid, breathe out mind.” That was it, you realized. Every time you breathed in your mind was being flooded with just haziness. And whenever you breathed out, more of your smarts went the way of the dodo.
“That’s it dude,” said your friend, “Get rid of all those smarts. You want to be like us, don’t you?” You couldn’t help but nod. He fished your cock out of your pants. He was stroking it out in broad daylight. You couldn’t help but buck and whimper. The blunt that was between your lips felt like it was lasting forever.
“That’s it, man,” said another skater nearby. “Give in.”
By then it was too late for you. Any part of you that was trying to get out of what was happening was already being drowned out by the feeling of your cock throbbing in your dude’s hands. By the blood pounding in your ears. By the repetition of that phrase in your ears.
You barely registered when someone took the joint from you, but you started repeating that mantra. “Breathe in stupid. Breathe out mind.” You stripped off your shirt and grinned, stoned stupid. The skaterboys were surrounding you. Many of them had their cocks out. They were naked except for their hats and their kneecaps. You wanted to be like them. You took off everything except your shoes and your kneecaps.
You chuckled, stupidly, when they pushed you to the ground. You were so fucking horny you couldn’t think of anything but cock. You took one cock in your mouth just as you felt another rubbing up and down your crack. You blacked out when the guy behind you pushed in to you, but when you came to, you could taste cum on your tongue and you could feel it leaking out of your boypussy.
You were naked, lying down on a striped blanket. You grinned, grabbing your clothes and putting them on before going to join your buddies. It never even crossed your mind to go anywhere but the skate park the next day. And then the next. And then the next. You didn’t want or need to do anything except hang out with your buds.
Well, to be perfectly honest, you were too dumb to do anything else, anyway. When one of your friends from university came around one day, asking around if anyone had seen a guy doing a sociology survey, you came up to him.
“Dude, saucyology? Fuck yeah. I love sauce!”
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