Jockbroski34 - Untitled

Wait, I made a mistake.

I don't really want to be a dumb jock bro.

Not someone who stinks, fucks, works out, and doesn't care what you think.

There is no way I'd want these muscles, this face, of this feeling of confidence.

You gotta help it go away.

Before the old me is gone forever.

Just after I flex one more time.

The Self Made Desire

Evan entered the gym not knowing what to expect. His friend had said he finally found the perfect muscle growing method. Evan didn’t really believe him. For the last three months Tanner had been dismissing him for even going to the gym, and now he had something to help him grow? Evan was skeptical to say the least. He was just happy that his friend might have started to become interested in living a healthier lifestyle.

“So whatcha got?” Evan shouted across the school gym. It was technically off hours but Tanner had an ability to get into almost anywhere whenever he wanted. At first Evan questioned it but now it was almost silly to even think about it. If Tanner said he was going to go somewhere at some time, just be there because he’ll already be inside.

Tanner smiled as he put away his phone. “This,” he held up a little device shaped like a gun, “is what’s going to help you get as big as you want to be.” Evan stared at the gun shaped object. Obviously it didn’t shoot bullets but it looked like it was supposed to shoot something. There was a trigger near a handle, except there were extra little rods and coils sticking out the sides that didn’t look too functional.

“Uh-huh?” Evan nodded. He tried not to laugh but was a bit curious as to what this thing actually was. “And where’d you get it?”

Tanner reached for his phone for a second but stopped himself. “Let’s just say magic,” he smiled. It was a generic dumb excuse but Evan knew not to push it.

“And how does it work?”

The smile on Tanner’s face just broadened. “It’s real simple! All you have to do is imagine what you want to be while I point and shoot this at you and you’re body will start to change.” His hands waved up and down excitedly as he told Evan what was going on.

“Uh-huh…” Evan tried to hide his skepticism but a smile creeped out.

“You don’t believe me…” Tanner said a bit defeated.

“Not really…” Evan realized what he said was a little rude. “But if you want to try it we can.”

“Really?!” Tanner’s enthusiasm returned. “Alright! Stand right there. Now all you have to do is imagine what you want to look like.”

“Alright…” Evan said. It’d been a few months since he started working out but everyday he’d go through bodybuilder’s online profiles trying to get some inspiration. He’d love looking at their expansive posts of working out, flexing, eating and having girls dangle around their arms. However Evan always pictured himself as one of those girls. Being right up next to their large muscular bodies and feeling their strong arms.

Evan accidentally let out a bit of a moan thinking about it. He hadn’t noticed that Tanner had pulled the trigger. Evan’s personal fantasy had already started and with the device being pointed at him whatever Evan was thinking about would become true. His fantasy started to shift to a more dominate personality. Why should he just be the one holding onto a bodybuilder’s bicep? Or be the one fawning over someone bigger than him? Why couldn’t he be the one ogled at? When he walks down the street people cock their heads back to get a second look. He’d be big. His shoulders broad and chest pushed out. Shirt would be a little uncomfortable unless specially tailored but that would be fair. To look so big, there had to be a price.

He thought more about what those guys had in common. His head fell back as the thoughts filled his mind. He’d be big. His arms started to press up against the sleeves of his shirt, while it rode up his torso from his expanding shoulders. The fabric stretched tightly against his broadening chest while also tightening around each ab. It was at least three sizes too small while his shorts had rode up well past his knees. His feet were far too big for his shoes and even his dick started to poke it’s head out. “Big…” he moaned.

The clothes he was wearing didn’t fit right. He’d seen enough of those guys to know he’d have to wear something far different. A backwards hat, a sleeveless shirt, and tight compression pants that rolled over his thighs and wrapped around his calfs. ‘Screw the sleeveless shirt,’ Evan chuckled to himself. He’d be hot enough that wearing it would be more of a crime than not wearing it. His hat turned around and a puff of hair stuck out the front. “Stylish…” he moaned.

But he’d have to have a laid back attitude. Relaxed, yet in control. People would look up to him literally and figuratively. Just his presence could make people at ease. He cocked his head back and thought about how he’d need to be good at sports. Nearly all of them he could play but he’d excel at rugby and baseball. Those weren’t really similar but he’d want a huge body that had great hand eye coordination. He could throw a beer across the room or throw someone over his shoulder if he needed them in another room. “Strong…”

But guys would be all over him. Even if they were straight. Didn’t fucking matter. They would see him in the room and forget just about everything else. He would ooze masculinity and guys would be attracted to him. They’d deny it, fight off that feeling but get them alone and then they’d explore all sorts of parts of them they’d never thought of before. He’d just give them a nod and they knew what it meant. “Sexy…”

Tanner looked at Evan’s new body. He stood a good 6’4” with a densely packed 240 muscular frame. Tanner’s mouth opened wide as he realized what had just happened. His friend had nearly doubled in size. “Woah!” Tanner said excitedly. “This is amazing!”

“Sure is,” there was a coolness in Evan’s voice he moved closer to Tanner’s smaller body and locked him between him and the weight. The confident tone sent a shiver down Tanner’s spine. “But now do you want to test it out?” Evan’s dick was pushing hard against the compression fabric of his pants. The thing went half way down his leg and looked thicker than a beer can.

Tanner blushed. His own dick got hard at the sensation. “Bu-but I’m not gay,” he tried to deny the feeling he was having. But the more Evan’s strong hands rolled over his soft body the harder he got. He couldn’t believe how sexy the man holding him down was. He sputtered again trying to rationalize why he was feeling the way he did. His ass tingled, wanting something to fill it. He bit his bottom lip and couldn’t stop grinding against the muscular man holding him down. “But I’m not unwilling…” a smirk started to cross his face as he said it.

“HEY!” one of the coach’s shouted from the door of the school gym. “Gym’s closed!” He stepped in and looked at Evan on top of Tanner. He took another step in as Evan stood up and cocked his head back confidently. “Sup,” the coach replied. He was supposed to be telling them to get out of there but something was distracting him. A thought entered his mind that he’d never thought before. He tried to force it down but he found himself moving deeper into the gym.

Lucky

Back at it again with @mrrharper

Colt was the greatest roommate I could have ever asked for, and I am surprised that nobody had snatched him before I did. I was so lucky to have found him.

I had been searching for a dude pretty similar to myself to room with: sameish age, comparable activities, would not have a problem with me bringing home a girl from the club every once and a while. Colt was all that and more. He was responsible and took his share of chores, was active and cared about sports (although he cheered for the wrong teams), and he was great at giving me my space but was also always willing to hang. He even gifted me with a playlist for the gym! Colt was just so thoughtful.

Colt was very sympathetic about my current situation, understanding that it would take a little bit before I found a stable job. He did not mind however, reminding me that as long as I had the money to pay for rent, he did not care what I did. This meant my weeks were fairly open to begin with, mostly spent applying and interviewing for jobs with my history degree. I visited the gym twice or three times a week for some light cardio, using Colt’s playlist to keep me motivated. His choices in music were perfect; I would finish my workouts before I even realized it.

As time went on, Colt and I got to spend more time with each other, learning about our individual hobbies and interests. We shared one of these moments while watching a game together between my favorite team, the New England Patriots, and his, the Philadelphia Eagles. It was a brutal match, with both of us cheering rampantly for our different picks. Colt’s team had been having a rough season already, so it was not surprising when the Patriots pulled ahead in the end. I was cheering and hollering, engrossed in my team’s victory.

“Isn’t it difficult to always be supporting the best team, Mike?” Colt suddenly asked.

I frowned, “What do you mean?”

“It’s so much pressure to always be on top. There’s more fun in supporting an underdog like the Eagles.” 

I considered his point, having been a lifelong Patriots fan. It made sense–always winning took some of the adrenaline away while at the same time instituting stress. If the Patriots lost, it would have been devastating. But even though the Eagles lost, Colt pointed out he still had hope, and that either result would have still made him feel good. I nodded after Colt asked if I wanted to feel good like him. There was no harm in becoming an Eagles fan for a season, it would give me something different. Plus, it would be exciting for Colt and I to be on the same team

It was then I discovered another great part of living with Colt was being exposed to a unique perspective. At first, I was watching twice as many games, supporting both the Patriots and the Eagles. But I quickly found my interest leaning towards the latter, better understand Colt's theory about hope. Losing never felt so good! By the end of the season, I had not only attended an Eagle’s game with Colt, but had missed the Patriots winning the Super Bowl entirely!

Colt’s perspective influenced me in other routes as well. Still without a job, he suggested that I could have been taking advantage of my free time at the gym. I had not objected to this thought, considering it as a fair idea. Slowly, I found myself working out more often, eventually entering and leaving the gym every single day. Colt commented that I must have loved it; working out and flexing my muscles. It also meant I had more time to listen to his awesome playlist.

At some point, the effect of my frequent gym visits became recognizable. There were the obvious benefits–I had always been athletic but now my muscles were becoming conditioned, firm and supple and model-worthy. But a cloud of funk had begun to surround my everyday life, the reek of sweat and body odor hovering constantly. I had always been good about wearing deodorant, but at some point the habit had abruptly vanished. Colt did not seem bothered by my musk however, so neither was I. 

Laundry was another victim of my altering lifestyle. Clean clothes became a thing of the past as my forgetful mind struggled to organize. My room became covered in my discarded clothing, some of which I eventually threw out. Not because they smelled horrendous, but because they were simply too hot. Starchy and confining, I soon found myself buying shorter shorts, more revealing tees, things the typical jock would wear. Colt even commented on it.

“You’re becoming quite the bro, Mike,” he had joked.

“They’re just so much more comfortable.” I had been in a stringer with some running shorts. “And I’m always so flushed now too.”

“It’s a new stage of life, you’re probably just anxious,” Colt offered. "You should just walk around in your boxers, that would help cool you down.”

“You think so?”

The next day, I found myself grateful for Colt’s suggestion. Strutting around the apartment in just my boxers massively improved my temperature regulation. There were other benefits too, like being able to visualize my flexes after every insane pump. It also allowed me easier access to my package, which I had recently noted had begun to feel heavier. Colt had caught me standing in the hallway fondling my junk once, snapping me out of a haze. He did not mind my behavior however, and I did not worry about him perving on me. I was not homophobic or anything, but I would have never roomed with a gay guy. I knew dudes well enough to know that sort of thing.

This was evident by the new guys I was hanging out with at the gym. A few of the jockish types had approached me after a workout, and with Colt’s encouragement, I had begun to hang out with them more frequently. Big Dog, Chief, The Big Brobowski; if I was not spending time with Colt I was at the gym, at the bars, or at the clubs with them. When I told Colt about this, he stated it was about time I had a nickname to go along with.

“Maverick,” he nodded. “Yeah, it fits you perfectly.”

I smiled dumbly, struggling to remember what my former name had been.

“The bros have had quite the impact on you,” Colt said. “You’re bigger, smellier, hairier.”

I chuckled, scratching at the fuzz on my exposed chest.

“Dumber too,” Colt added. “All that knowledge has shifted to sports, fitness, and nutrition. I think it's about time you stopped looking for a job with that useless degree. Apply to be a trainer at your gym.”

I cocked my head, the wheels turning slowly in my head as I considered this idea.

“Yeah...sure bro,” I eventually replied. And I followed up with it. To my surprise, the owner of the gym offered me a position right on the spot, saying I could start immediately after the weekend. The first thing I did was rush home to Colt, excited to tell him the news. I did not expect to see him on the couch in one of my dirty workout tees and a pair of silk shorts, pawing himself cockily.

Colt must have seen the shocked look on my face. “What, Maverick? Have you not done this with your bros yet?”

“Uh…done what?” I asked slowly.

“Helped a bro out,” Colt scoffed as if it was the most obvious thing. “Come here, I’ll show you.”

I followed his command, approaching slowly. I was still a bit sweaty from my viscous victory workout after the interview, Colt’s playlist had been blasting my eardrums the entire time.

“Gym bros like you do this all the time, Maverick” Colt persuaded, ushering for me to get on top of him. I crawled forward, my eyes tracing each ab that he revealed from under his shirt. “They look tasty, don’t they?”

With Colt's guidance, I felt myself lower down to run my tongue along my roommate's smooth, tight chest.

“See? That wasn’t so hard was it?”

Our eyes met. I did not have to vocally confirm.

“Dumb jocks like you do this all the time,” Colt reaffirmed. “They love to do this all the time.”

I felt my cock gently inflate, throbbing inside my tight shorts. Colt reached his left hand to calmly, but assertively cup my balls, eliciting a small moan from me as he pushed back my shorts. He then began to remove his own, aligning my dick and rubbing it against his hole. My precum was soon slicking him up. 

“I am the greatest roommate you could have ever asked for, and you are surprised that nobody had snatched me before you did.” Colt instructed as I entered him. “You were so lucky to have found me.”

I like the sound of this footy chav, those lads are always fit with perfect arses. I'd like to learn more about your offerings.

Footballer in 3…2…1

Well, the tour of the factory definitely wouldn’t be complete without showing you the footie chav production. Are you interested in buying one yourself? There’s a waiting list but maybe I can work something out. Over here, we already have a batch of victi—ahem, volunteers - as our lawyers insist we call them, on the conveyor belt ready to be converted.

Olly is our training model for this drone. At 21, he was a star striker for a large successful football team. It was a great get to have his likeness and personality scanned into our database. These chav drones have been flying off the shelves since we started production, every football team that can afford one are ordering an Olly model.

You’ve seen the mold press in action already but personally it never gets old with me. Amazing how after only a few short seconds their bodies can be effortlessly reshaped, like a plastic doll. Lean, toned muscle from top to bottom. Put two side by side and you’ll struggle to spot a single difference. This model took a lot of trial and error to get the face just right. But the result is, pardon me for saying, ‘fit as fuck’. And the shaved football outline in the back of their faded hair is a great little touch.

What do you think of the thick, fake diamond earrings? Kinda gaudy, I agree, but completely essential for such a basic chav. Doubly so with their now big, sticking out ears.

Arse inflation is next. What? Come on, we both know it’s half the appeal of watching football. And viewership numbers are important to our sponsors. Just a quick injection of our specialised filler to the buttocks and floomph. Mmm, see, nice and thick. A pair of round footballs for all to enjoy. To bounce with every step. It’s really gonna stand out in a tight pair of footie shorts.

They do tend to look a bit confused at this point, especially after seeing their face in the partition glass. Watching the realisation hit them when they figure out that it’s their own reflection is always funny. The wide eyes, piecing together what’s going to happen to them; that they’re about to be made a moronic twat, sold off to some loser football team. The shock is only temporary, as the deprograming chip is quickly installed in the neck. After which, the Olly chav program gets to work breaking down and subsequently rebuilding their new simplified identity. You should be able to see any resistance fade around about now, as chavdom is bluntly imprinted upon them.

Unfortunately the mind-wipe process isn’t always 100% failproof. We’re working on it. But in the meantime we have all the models sent to the milking room after they’ve done, just to make sure every part of their old self is…expelled. Honestly, for most it usually only takes a few tugs from the suction machine. The ones still desperately trying to hold on will be repeatedly gooned to utter idiocy. Eh, we usually give discounts on those ones.

In addition to being as dumb as a post, Olly was secretly a bit of a horny gay kinkster, which has been retained in the drone models. For our adamantly straight-laced, heterosexual volunteer subjects, it can come as a bit of an adjustment. Especially with some of the more…extreme desires implanted. If it’s any consolation for them, they’re going to be comically straight acting, just to overcompensate. Although…I guess that’s a bit of a bummer for anyone more flamboyant, like you are. Ah—sorry, just an observation.

Anyway. Simply put, it means - of course, they love the smell of their own feet. After every match they eagerly remove their cleats and take a long hit off their ripe foot stench. The fact that people are watching and can see their cocks visibly tenting doesn’t matter, they’re just a chav drone after all. ‘Blud, me feet reek’ is reportedly the most common phrase of the Olly model. Probably about 1 in 5 odds when they open their mouth. Suffice to say, any ex girlfriends would be quite mortified about their new ‘foot boy’ status.

Hm? Oh, don’t mind that, casually scratching one’s nuts isn’t too uncommon after all inhibitions have been deleted. There’s no space for self awareness in their programming. No space for much at all really. Except obnoxious narcissism and how to be the perfect player. Their whole world will become nothing but football, it’s all they’ll be able to think about, talk about. No distractions, it’s why they’re such proficient team members. Their brain is basically just a big empty football. No worries about them being off side, that’s for sure haha!

We’ve found they get on really well with the other team mates. Having a certified idiot around really makes them feel a lot better about themselves. Chav drones can be the butt of all the immature jokes, and they won’t even mind, just happily laugh along with it.

This way, let’s watch them all be simultaneously kitted out in their gear. Get closer? Sure. If you stand on the—wait! Watch out for the…oh.

Oops.

Sorry to say, but you’re next in line. There’s nothing I can do I’m afraid. Nothing I WANT to do anyway. You’re gonna make a tidy profit. Not to worry, I’ll make sure to process your new chav contract. Olly.

Time to move you forward, chav to-be. We got plenty more subjects to get through today and I want to see those huge ears studded with fake diamonds.

Body and face reshaping engaging in 3…2…1…

Wow, you’re lucky that you were a good fit for the molding machine, usually we have to test for compatibility first. You don’t want to experience what happens to our rejects, not unless you like the idea of being a chav branded sex toy. But no, you’re the spitting image. Dopey as all fuck with that signature look of confusion. An ideal footballer physique, identical to all the other Ollys. Nice fat arse, by the way. I’ll try and remember which one is you but, you know, no promises.

That’s it, stiffen those limp wrists. Be a propa lads lad! You can feel it right, the intense effects of our mind dampening? It’s the strangest thing, to have your personality condensed down to a imperceptible dot as a single sport consumes your whole identity. A foot ball will define you, define everything you’ll ever care about. Shaved permanently into the back of your dense head for all to see ⚽️.

See the image of a football get bigger and bigger in your brain as the rest of you gets smaller and smaller. Let that perfectly spherical shape expand and fill your tiny chav mind to the brim. It’ll be all you can think about, talk about. Your heavily accented voice mumbling and swearing about scores and tactics, repeating the same basic slang over and over again. Everything else is just white noise, a distraction. Maturity is something you can leave behind, along with that useless education you wasted so many years on. Picture the ball, just waiting there. Feel the NEED to kick it. That feeling as your feet connect, it’s the only high you’ll chase. It hitting the back of the net. The thrill. The…pleasure. Football. Foot. Ball. I can see the words light up your eyes already. Your cock chubbing, balls sagging. Let’s hurry this up so we can have you milked dry and join the rest of the Olly models on the training pitch.

“I…yea—yuh! Footie, amrite lads. Like mate, I’ll give it a punt.”

I’m sure you will, my intellectually challenged friend. The conversion will be finished before you know it. By this time tomorrow you’ll be grinning like a complete dipshit while whiffing your stinky cleats after a successful footy match. Won’t you Olly?

“Uhhhhhhh…fucking ayy. Blud, me feet reek.”

_________

Want more chav drone transformations? Here:

I watched from the kitchen door, with a wide grin on my face, as my previously combative, nerdy Stepson watched his laptop, eyes glazed, for the umpteenth time these last 6 months. Nobody would ever remember tiny, snarky little Theodore. They’d only ever see Theo, this bulky, sweaty brute, lifting and fucking his way through college, just like any red-blooded young man should. And it was all thanks to my buddy Sarge’s “attitude adjusting” self help videos, he custom designs for a slew of shady clientele after he retired. Mostly foreign governments, some loony cults here and there. But for me, he’d done a personal favor. I filled out a details chart, every last trait, from his voice to his hair, posture, everything. I thought about everything he’d said about “those sweating, grunting behemoths” that all got into school with free-ride scholarships for athletics. Theo was going to helplessly, desperately, insatiably grow, eating and grunting his way to 215, the weight I’d maintained all through college. He’d also dress, walk, and talk like the testosterone (and a slew of supplements Sarge gave me with the videos) filled cocky young male you see frequenting college courtyards, throwing footballs between bros and chasing pretty sorority girls like lovesick puppies. Their dumb, dopey demeanor would seen pour from Theo’s mouth, his shoulders back, pecs out casually. He’d grope and adjust himself, sitting down with his legs wide no matter where he is. His diet would change, adding raw calories and protein, chuckling dumbly with the other gym rats as he gulps down creatine powder, dry, and chugs a shake to wash it down. The supplements Sarge gave me to add to his meals, ensured he’d bulk up fast, and solid. As long as I fed him enough, which I was warned would triple our groceries, at least, He’d gain the weight, and the thickness I was looking for, while his body would be thrust through a second puberty, allowing for the subliminals to work on other, aspects, of his masculinity. Let’s just say, we all know what they say about dudes with big feet. And his will be a hefty size 14. Too bad for his mother, our house is also going to reek like a Varsity locker room, because those feet, and the rest of him, will be all raw male, all the time. Pumped and ready, brimming with energy, like a Golden Retriever, if it were a 6’2” behemoth. The toughest bit was straightening him out. Giving him that good old fashioned, hot-blooded straight male instinct, making him drool over the coeds and cheerleaders, chasing girls like every young man should. The videos worked their magic well, the supplements setting his balls ablaze, churning out testosterone to fuel his primal need for aggression, for hard work, and effort, and sweat and sex. He fought it until his best friend Jenna, without realizing what her playful teasing was doing to him, had been on the couch with him, and had leaned over, and nibbled his ear one night while watching a movie. He'd lost his gold star that night. Quickly, and with all the confusion and passion that comes with young love and first times. Jenna had been stunned when he’d practically pounced on her, and from there, hours passed, and they wore themselves out right there on the couch. The next morning, he was mortified, but he couldn’t help but kiss her when she woke and complimented him on his… performance. It's been 6 months, and you’d never know he wasn’t always a muscled up, sweaty, straight boy, chasing girls at school, slacking off in class, and riding his new Lacrosse Scholarship that Sarge so nicely arranged when Theo got big and dumb enough to join the team. It seems Sarge knows quite a few coaches, Alumni, and Board members with a good bot of influence. It also seemed the school’s Jock population was skyrocketing, coincidentally at the same time as Sarge added a pool, an extension, and a garage full of classic cars to his house…

Selection Day

“Mr. Wagner, this is an impressive application.” The man mused, “Graduated college last year with a 4.0 GPA in biology. I see you completed prep courses to become a physician.”

James Wagner nodded, “That would be ideal.”

His father promised he’d have nothing to worry about on Selection Day, which occurred during the month of one’s 23rd birthday. Judges reviewed your file: extracurriculars, criminal record, education, etc., to determine the perfect career for you- and give you all the tools to succeed.

“I see here your father is Senator Wagner and your mother is Dr. Wagner, both distinguished in their fields. Quite a tough election year though.”

“Dad isn’t too worried though. His campaign manager says he has a plan.” James leaned back in his chair, “Already planning the victory party.”

“You should celebrate too. I think you’ll be perf...” The judge’s phone rang, cutting him off, “Excuse me Mr. Wagner, I have to take this.”

The judge left James to himself. The young man sighed in relief, despite some growing anticipation. When his brother went through the process, they didn’t change too much. They enhanced his attractive features and gave him a greater sense of ambition- all fitting for his career in finance. But he was still his brother. James hoped for something similar. He knew his application would let him select from “tier A models” so he was feeling good. And afterwards, he and his dad would go golfing and get dinner down at the country club to celebrate.

“Mr. Wagner, come with me” The judge said as he returned to the room.

James nodded, “Uh by the way, I was hoping to go with a Tier A physician model...”

“No worries James, just follow me please.”

James followed closely entering a room filled with various pods. A knot formed in his stomach. This is where it would happen. He gulped and watched as the judge walked towards a pod and pressed some buttons. This was it. Calmly, James undid his button shirt, revealing his lean and tanned body. Years of track and caddying on the golf course gave him a nice tan and lean physique. As he finished undressing, his attention shifted to the pod as it whirred to life and opened.

“Here it goes.” He whispered.

The young man stepped into the pod and watched the door shut. A small window allowed him to see the outside world and he nodded at the judge, who frowned in return. And then it started. The mechanical hands that lay dormant suddenly came to life, scanning James’s body.

“Applicant: James Wagner.” A soothing mechanical voice stated, before rattling off demographics that James simply tuned out, “Model: Gym Staff, Front Desk, Tier D.”

“Wait what?” James called out, “Hey! I think somethings wrong.” He tried to convey, “That’s not...”

He barely had a moment to speak as a metallic substance wrapped around his legs. He cried out as it burned his skin. And slowly, his legs began to expand, filling with raw muscle. His slender calves popped with muscle, while his 10.5 inch feet expanded to size 13. He held back tears as his thighs expanded with firm muscle. And then, his lower extremities were freed.

“Holy fuck!” He shouted, as he wriggled his new toes, “Please, I think there’s been some kind of mistake!” The judge wasn’t paying attention anymore, just talking to someone on the phone.

Before he could continue, a saddle emerged from underneath him and wrapped around his ass and cock. A gentle warmth encompassed them, causing James to shudder. But as he focused on the sensation, more of the substance covered his chest and torso. Similar to his legs, he felt an intense warming sensation. And as the warmth intensified, he felt himself growing. He watched as a strong core and bounceable pecs formed from his once lean physique and groaned as his torso stretched, adding height. But it wasn’t just height. He was  becoming wider as his back expanded with muscle. When the mold finally released him, he was left with a physique he could only dream of obtaining naturally. But this wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want to be a hulking beast of a man.

“You need to...” James started to cough as a green haze entered the pod, “What... fuck... bro please...” He kept coughing, barely noticing his use of the word “bro” and his deepening voice, “Dude, this ain’t cool!”

He watched as his arms were encased. Biceps and triceps exploded from his lean arms, while his forearms grew with muscle. When his arms were released, he could gawk at them in awe.  

“Dude, check it out, my guns are lookin' massive!” James’s eyes widened, “Dude, why do I sound all weird? Not stoked about it, man!” Try as he might, he couldn’t control the new bro lingo that left his mouth.  

And before he could say another word, a mask wrapped around his face and neck. He cried as his face was remodeled. Simultaneously, personal details were added to his physique. Tattoos of some meaning to James were carved into his body. Meanwhile, he was sprayed with a different solution that caused hair to sprout from his abdomen and chest, eventually thickening and forming a dense treasure trail. His arms and legs were not spared, nor were his ass or dick. And with a mechanical screech, the mask finally left his face. His new eyes were dark, topped by thick dark eyebrows. His light brown hair replaced with darker brown. His clean shaven face now adorned with stubble. And his angular face just a bit rounder, with a pair of thick lips. The young man felt his new face and rubbed a hand across his hairy pecs.

“Seriously, dude? No way!” He grumbled, ““Dude, I'm not a bro, change me back, seriously!” James felt tears well up in his eyes. This wasn’t him, he didn’t sound like this. He still had his intelligence, but no one would take him seriously.

But his thoughts were interrupted as the his privates were freed. James’s eyes widened. His dick was never that big, nor did he have foreskin before. He watched in awe as it started expanding and he wrapped his hand around it.

“Whoa, bro, check out the size of that thing!” He started pumping his new cock, “Bro, this is epic! It feels so damn good!” A new mist filled the pod as he continued to jerk off, causing James to scrunch his nose, “Dude, it totally reeks in here, like a locker room or something.” From this point on, that smell would stick to him. He’d always smell like a dirty locker room.

However this did little to deter him as he jerked off. And as he did so, he felt a quick jab in his arm as the contents of a syringe were dumped into him.

“Dude, my head's all fuzzy right now, it's weird.” He moaned as his IQ plummeted and new knowledge filled his brain, “Heh, check this out, dude.” He moaned as he bounced his pecs, “Dude, wait, my brain's acting up. I'm, like, still smart, yeah?” James tried to remember facts that he once memorized but found nothing. His golf skills replaced by workout routines, his adherence to social norms evaporating, and his desire to present himself well replaced with a need to wear tank tops and gym shorts, “Whatever, bro, it doesn't matter. I've got this, and that's what counts.” He winked at his dick and continued to jerk himself off, moving his hand faster and faster, “Fuck yeah, dude!” He moaned as he came, covering himself in cum and falling to the ground. And there he sat, totally spent until the door to the pod opened.

“Hey James,” James looked up and grinned.

"Yo, what's up, campaign manager bro?"

The older man smiled and turned to the judge, “Very good job, James here is perfect. No one will think Selection Day is rigged if even Senator Wagner’s son isn’t safe.”

“Nah, bro, it's Jim, not James.” Jim chuckled, “Like ‘gym’, get it bro?”

“Here Jim, get cleaned up.” The judge said, throwing the man a towel.

After wiping the cum from his hairy abdomen and chest, he got dressed in a tank top and gym shorts. And as he walked through the building, he barely cared at the glances of disgust and the people holding their noses. Nor did he care for the judgmental stares as he scratched his balls and pits, completely oblivious to social norms. When he finally got outside, he smiled when he saw his father’s limo. He quickly walked over and jumped in with a grin.  

“Who are you?” His father asked, scrunching his nose.

Jim grinned and pulled his dad in for a hug, “Yo, dad, it's me, Jim. What's good?"

Several months had passed since then and much changed for Jim. His father quickly disowned him, believing that James hadn’t been honest with the family if this was the outcome of Selection Day. Besides, appealing outcomes was a lengthy process and for Jim’s dad, there could be great political repercussions given his support for the process. So Jim would remain. His life on the golf course and dining in the country club just a memory.

But Jim didn’t mind as he entered his small studio apartment and tossed his gym bag to the ground. He walked over to the dirty mattress in the middle of his room and plopped down, scratching his pits and flipping through his phone.  

“Bro, check it out! Dad crushed the election, fuck yeah!” He cheered with a grin. His grin only widened as he read the text from the cute blond guy from the gym.

Even if he couldn’t celebrate with his family that night, Jim was going to celebrate. And as he texted the guy his address, he could feel the monster in his pants start to grow.

Be careful staring at spirals for too long. They have a way to get deep into your head and start transforming you. Before you know it, you won’t be able to think of anything else. You will just need to obey the spiral and do as it commands.