Hi, I Was Hoping My Touristics Trip Would Take Me To Greece?

Chris

After transforming Chris, I was inspired. Never had I ever imagined changing someone else could feel so liberating, so addicting, so… powerful. Sure, I had played pranks on my siblings and altered my own appearance many times over the years, but that all felt so inferior after Chad’s transformation.

Chad was the first of many to experience shifts in their realities. Every one of my selections was picked carefully – some individuals were worthy of my gifts; others needed a lesson or two.

This is one of those worthy individuals.

After perfecting my “ideal” body type, I decided LA was the perfect place to settle down in: a solid gay scene, entertainment galore and good-looking men at nearly every corner. What else could I have asked for? I mean, LA did bring me Chad, so I know I made the right decision.

Even though I could have maintained my body in perfect shape without lifting a single pound, I had to keep my powers on the down low. So, I regularly frequented this gym about five minutes from my place. I also just enjoyed the feeling of the weights in my hands and seeing how well my muscles handled the exercise.

Throughout my time at my gym, I met this kid: Chris. 21, shy, scrawny, and kind of a nerd. He wore thick black frames on his face, a shaggy haircut, and workout clothes that always made his thin body look even slimmer. But he was a nice guy. Whenever I saw him, he’d always say hi and engage in small talk with me. After a couple months, we actually became friends. He would make movie recommendations to me; I’d give him a few music suggestions. I even took him out to celebrate his birthday at my favorite bar.

I liked Chris. Initially, I thought he was just trying to flirt with me. I mean, I couldn’t blame the man; I was a fit, dark and handsome. But, after a few conversations, I just realized he kind of admired me in a different way. He liked my muscles, sure, but he didn’t want them on him. He wanted to have them. He wanted to bulk up.

So I would help him out in the gym a bit; spot him whenever he wanted to. That of course garnered us a few looks from people probably wondering why I was hanging out with him. I guess it might have looked a little odd, but Chris was my friend; I couldn’t have cared any less.

“You don’t have to always work out with me, Raul,” Chris said. “Don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate it. Even though I haven’t made too much progress over the past few months, at least weight wise. I just don’t want you to lose your mass because you aren’t working out as hard as you could be.”

“Chris,” I said, with a smile. “Trust me, I won’t slim down or chunk up because I work out with you. I have a tight regimen that I stick to. I’ll keep my bod’, so don’t worry your little head too much.” I lightly punched his shoulder.

“You know what I mean,” Chris said, rolling his eyes. “You’re not gonna be much help to me if your muscles shrink and you’re a dweeb like me or if they all turn to fat and you’re a lard ass.”

“Wow, and to think that I thought you actually cared about my health,” I said. I placed my hand over my heart, feigning hurt.

We both laughed, walking over to our next station: the bench press.

“Besides, Chris, I actually enjoy working with you. We have good conversation.”

Chris and I picked up the plates from the racks and starting placing them on the bar in front of us. He really had been making progress. At the beginning, picking up a 25-lb plate was near impossible for him. Now, he only grunted occasionally; usually when we had a strenuous workout the day prior.

Once we had the weights in place, I laid down on the bench, adjusting myself in the proper position. Chris stood behind the bar, prepping to spot me. I reached for the bar and began my reps.

“Why doesn’t Chad ever come to the gym with you?”

“Uhm…” I said, lowering the bar down towards my chest. I had to think of a lie, quick. “Well, he’s always working. Plus, he mentioned to me once he doesn’t really like this gym, so he goes to one across town.” I continued my set.

“Oh, I see,” Chris said.

As I wrapped up my first set, a man walked towards us. John. I hated the guy. He tried to convey this macho, punker vibe, but, to me, he just came off as a try-hard douchebag. He always wore tank tops at least a size too small, with the deepest v-cuts I had ever seen. He was a total tool. I placed the bar back on the rack.

“Hey there, ladies,” John said, with a smirk. “Raul, how’s training the loser going today?”

“Get out of here, John,” I said, pulling my chest back as I sat back up on the edge of the bench.

“What?” John said. “Am I hurting your girlfriend’s feelings? It’s not my fault he’s been working out here for what? Four? Five months now? And he barely looks like he’s put on five pounds. He’s a joke. You should be working out with someone like me; at least I can give you a challenge. All this kid can give you is a sigh of relief that you don’t still look like a freshman in high school.”

“That’s enough, John,” I said, standing up, inches from his face. I scanned my eyes up and down his body until I landed at his face. Subtle freckles lined his medium-toned skin, highlighting his piercing green eyes that glared back at me. He was an attractive guy; too bad he was such a dick.

“If I were you, I’d walk away now,” I said, controlling every impulse I had to not draw my hand back and smash my fist into his nose.

“Whatever.” John said, with a scoff. He glanced at Chris, and smirked. “See you around.” He pushed his shoulder past Chris as he walked towards the bicep curls machine.

“I’m sorry, Chris,” I said, sighing. “I don’t get why John is always such an asshole.” I turned to my friend and noticed he was picking up his bag. “Wait, what are you doing?”

“I think I’m gonna call it a day,” Chris said, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “A light workout won’t hurt, especially after how hard you worked me last week.”

“Chris, no,” I said. “Don’t let John get to you; you’re doing a great job. Let’s finish.”

“It’s okay, Raul,” Chris said, beginning to walk away. “I’ll see you around.”

That’s when it hit me – I knew what I could do for Chris. The same thing I did for Chad, and for almost the same reason: I could make his dreams come true.

“Wait,” I said. I walked over to Chris, placing my hand on his shoulder. “Come back to my place. I think I know what’ll help with this.”

“What,” Chris said, laughing. “A bottle of vodka? Cause if so, yeah you’re probably right.”

“No,” I said, smiling. “Something better. Much better.”

–

Chris and I headed back to Chad’s and I’s apartment. We talked about some new anime Chris was watching on Netflix that I had never heard of. I was only half-listening because I was too preoccupied with my own thoughts. I was nervous for this transformation. But, my whole body felt like it was vibrating because of my simultaneous excitement.

When Chris and I walked through my front door, I made an excuse to run to the bathroom to wash my face. I stared at myself in the mirror, my tee still damp with the sweat from my workout.

“You can do this, Raul,” I said, trying to convince myself that making my friend happy was worth risking outing my abilities. “It’s for the better good, and you can trust him.” I splashed my face with water quickly and headed back to the living room.

“Okay, Raul,” Chris said as I entered the room. “What do you have that’s better than me getting plastered and finishing up a season of my anime?”

“Trust me, Chris,” I said, walking to the front of the room. “You’re going to love this so much more. Close your eyes.”

“What?” Chris said, furrowing his brows and sinking further into my couch.

“Trust me,” I repeated. “Just close your eyes.”

He looked at me confused for a few more moments before sighing and shutting his eyes.

I decided against repeating my mistakes with Chad and skipped the whole “I’m a wizard bit” and decided to cut right to the chase.

“What’s your dream body, Chris?” I asked.

“Raul, what are we doing,” Chris said, with a groan.

“Just answer, please,” I said. I held my hands out towards Chris, emitting a small wave towards him. I couldn’t leave room for Chris to stall or be sheepish, so I chose coax his mind into being fully truthful with me.

“I don’t know,” Chris said, sighing. “I guess your body is something I would love to have, but, you are kind of short. I’d like to be taller. I know I’m already 5 foot 10 inches, but I’d be nice to be like, 6 foot 5 or something. And I definitely want more muscles, even a bit more toned than yours. Arms are my favorite – I’d really want big biceps and tris. A strong core, and solid legs. My face is kind of on the softer side too. I’ve always dreamed of having a chiseled jawline.”

I smiled, watching my friend transform before my eyes. Hearing his desires out loud and allowing them to become a reality… I felt the same feeling I had with Chad.

“And I hate how shy I am.” Chris said, continuing. I guess that’s not really physical, but I just wish I was more confident. Kind of like John, just not like a douche. More ironic, in a way, but to the point that people actually found me charismatic and it’d make them want me. To be my friend, fuck me, date me - whatever applied to them.”

Chad’s body stretched, contorted, and grew into the perfect mold he had only imagined before. I watched my slender buddy turn into a hulking man that would tower over me if we stood side by side. No one would ever confuse Chris for a high school kid again; that was a fact. I tweaked his internal suggestions, boosting his confidence, and amping up his likability. And, for some final touches, adjusted his clothes to fit more comfortably.

Now, I was left with one more decision. I knew, deep down, I couldn’t allow Chris to know about my family and my abilities; at least not in the way I brought Chad into the mix. If I continued to increase the amount of people close to me know about my powers, I put myself at too much of a high risk with getting exposed. So, I knew I couldn’t let him remember his old life. With a flick of my wrist, it was done.

“I understand, Chris,” I said, lowering my hand. I walked over, bringing a hand mirror over and holding it in front of Chris’ face. “You can open now.”

“Shit!” Chris said, yelling and smacking the mirror out of my hands. “Did you really have to put that right in my front of me? I wasn’t prepared to look at my sweaty ass face!” He stood up, shaking his hand up and down playfully.

“I’m sorry,” I said, with a laugh. “I just know how easy you are to scare, and I never get tired of seeing a big, tough guy like you getting so jumpy.”

Then, I snapped my fingers, allowing Chris, just for a split second, to recognize everything that had just happened. His eyed widened as he noticed the extra inches of height he now had on me, and his breath hitched so slightly as he felt the dozens of pounds of muscle he had packed on in just minutes. At last, he achieved what he always wanted. And he smiled, and I knew he was thanking me.

“Ah,” Chris said, shaking his head as his reality shifted to fit his new life. “Sorry, uhm, what were we talking about, Little Dude?”

“You know how much I hate when you call me that, Chris,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“I know, I know,” Chris said, chuckling. “But you know I’m just kidding. It’s not your fault you’re so short. Plus, I would never want to piss you off, cause I know that you could still knock me square on my back.” He crossed his arms, smiling at me. “You’re like my, shorter but older brother, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah, I guess,” I said, laughing back. “But, to answer your question, you were just talking about how funny you thought that shirt you’re wearing is.”

“Oh yeah,” Chris said, with a smile. “It’s hella dumb, but I think my arms look really good in it. It felt nice to lift in today. Don’t you think I look good in it?” He posed for me, jokingly.

“Yes, Chris,” I said. “You look really great. And I’m sure Chad would agree too.” I smiled.

The Fusion Archive.

As I release more & more stories, it will get tiresome to navigate. This post will be pined and updated over the lifetime of this blog.

Click the titles to jump to the corresponding posts:

Introduction.

Requests.

Mix 1: The Beach Bod

Mix 2: The Lifeguard Collective

Mix 3: One Path, One Us.

Mix 4: The Birth of The David & Goliath Society

Mix 5: The Rich Bear

Mix 6: Twin Distinction

Mix 7: A Father's Gift

Mix 8: The Rugged Pop Star

Mix 9: Once a Wrestler, always a Wrestler

Mix 10: We Only need One Prince & One Kingdom

Regenerating Face

Regenerating circulatory system…

The computer voice told me what is about to happen. I feel a fuzzy tingling surge through my aged veins and arteries, and my heartbeat gets stronger.

Regenerating nervous system…

The computer voice speaks again. I blink, as if waking from a long nap, fresh and alert.

Regenerating skeletal system… 

It’s a good thing the computer adjusts my sensations to manage the pain. My legs and arms shoot out from me, my spine stretches, my shoulders inch further and further from my ears.

Regenerating skin…

Instantly, my old, sallow, wrinkled skin splits and peels, and youthful, fresh, darkly-tanned skin emerges from beneath.

Regenerating musculature…

I wince as pound after pound of muscle is stitched onto my frame, feeling unfathomable strength boil and blister on my body. I am not believing what I am experiencing. I flick my eyes to the mirror, my aged and grizzled visage has a look of surprise in the midst of the young bodybuilder I seem to be becoming.

Regenerating biography…

Suddenly I’m flushed with memories of growing up on ranch south of San Angelo. Breaking horses with the ranch hands. Sleeping in the hayloft with my older cousins. Becoming prom king in high school, and playing college football for the Longhorns. Coming out of the closet.

Releasing constraints.

New profile running.

Regenerating face.

This Is The Future That Liberals Want

You might like this, @mrrharper

I'm reposting some recent dumb-and-jocked stories but don't have all. Please also have a look at the archive compiled by @imsrtman!

It’s such a shame you don’t have a whole part for dumb&jocked! He left tumblr I think and I can’t find his stories anywhere

You can find most of the stories on this site. As for the missing parts, you may find them on my blog.

dumb-and-jocked-archive.blogspot.com

dumb-and-jocked archive

An archive of most of the content from dumb-and-jocked's Tumblr blog.

Ape boy

--- Originally posted on 2017-01-10 on realhankmccoy ---

“Just don’t make me dumb, man, I want to keep everything about my mind totally intact,” I told my friend at the lab.

I was totally willing to go through the procedure but I didn’t want it messing with my intellect any – my job and lifestyle were too important to me.

They promised me a whole new masculine experience, that they could bring out the man in me in ways that were easily accessible through epigenetic therapy.

I’d be fitter, more energetic, more attractive and just altogether healthier. It was in the beta testing process and they said they’d throw in $3000 if I signed off, too. I’d only need to take a few weeks off work for an outpatient trial.

“That didn’t seem so bad,” I said after the doctor finished up removing the slow drip from my arm and the infusion was complete. Took two different bags of fluid but I mostly felt fine, if a little faint at first.

I got home and realized I was pretty tired so I stripped down and went to bed. I started noticing the changes the next day already. I did have more energy. My face seemed handsomer, just a tad. After two days I was feeling pretty into this.

It was the third day when I started noticing that I was getting beefier.

That was cool, I thought, but then I noticed I was feeling hornier, too. I ignored it at first, but by the end of the day I was jacking off in my bedroom, hard. I got up off my bed, still stroking my dick, to check myself out in the mirror.

“Looks hot,” I thought, stroking it slowly. If this stuff made my sex drive a little stronger, that was fine with me.

I started getting obsessed with checkin’ out the changes in the mirror, and I had so much energy that I started working out. I’d be doing pushups on my hardwood floor and getting excited over how I was going to flex in front of the bathroom mirror after I finished a set of 50.

I went back to the lab and they didn’t seem to think it was a problem.

So I figured, what the hell, I might as well enjoy this. Pretty soon I was hanging out in just my underwear all the time. That didn’t make me dumb, I knew, it just felt good. I might as well get into it, I figured.

Only problem is I got used to it pretty quick. I hate wearing clothes now, dudes.

I looked in the mirror one day and I just looked so fucking good with these thick pecs and the thicker stubble on my face. I figured I should have fun with a haircut so I got kind of a high and tight, cut real short though, and that just turned me on. Even my facial structure has changed from this shit they’re doing to me. My ears look like they stick out more, like some dumb ape or something, and that just makes me hard. I’ve hot this thick abdomen and these beefy deltoids. I feel like I look more like a football dude, even, and I started watching football even. Might as well have fun while I’m stuck in outpatient anyhow.

They told me it wouldn’t alter my mind any but it’s like I’m addicted to working out, flexing in the mirror, taking selfies, hooking up – with dudes – I just find em on my phone. I stopped reading. I look at these hairy legs and I get hard just touching em, I rub a hand across my pecs and my nipples are hard right away and I feel my cock jump up wanting a piece of the action. All I can think about is my goddamn cock, man.

So I took another week off work because I’m not ready to go back, and told myself on Monday I’d start getting ready to get my life on track. I just procrastinated the whole day, jacking off in bed, mostly, slowly stroking it. I guess my new bod’s so awesome that it’s just depressing to think of going back to the office.

My alarm goes off on Tuesday, and I throw it against the wall and say fuck it. One more day of fun’s not gonna hurt. Dudes, I look so fucking good. At least I’ll be productive today, I tell myself. So I start off the day with a ton of pushups, make myself a protein shake, and I look so ripped in the mirror that I figure I’ll score myself a hookup off Grindr. Guy comes over, and his hairy, hard pecs crushed against mine – my rubbing the short beard I’ve got started all up on his asshole, and that turns him on enough that he’s letting me lift his legs and plow the shit out of him..

After he’s gone, I’m back in front of the mirror saying “you fucking stud. Yeah you fuckin’ ape boy. Fuckin’ just want to fuck with dudes, don’t you, gay boy. Yeah you jocked up fuck. Just want to get naked and fuck, don’t you?”

Still hard, still horny, so just stroking my dick slowly while I put the game on for ambience. I don’t know how Thursday’s gonna shake out but today I just went out and bought a basketball hoop for the driveway so I could burn off some of this energy. Felt fuckin’ great, too, goin’ out in the sun in just some shorts and Nikes working on my game. Soon as I was back indoors though, man, just stripped back down to my underwear – I can’t stop admiring this body. Gotta get another dude over here to mess around with. Fuck work, man, you only live once, right?

Think I’m gonna pick up a big screen for the bedroom because that’d be pretty cool, and I just found out gay dues have their own hockey leagues you can join so I’m thinking of that. How hot would that be – those dudes are fuckin’ built, man, and I could pick it up pretty quick I bet.

Fuck, let me know if – oh, fuck it, I’m gonna order a pizza and see if I can find a hot hookup for tonight. Some dude with pecs as thick as mine and who’s like me slapping this cock all over his tongue for a couple of hours while I tease the shit out of his hot jock ass. Yeah man. Fuckin’ hot, man, I could pump a full load into some dude’s muscle butt and be ready to score again two hours later. That’s how good I feel. Friends with benefits, whatever you want to call it as long as it’s none of that lovey-dovey or dramatic shit – I’ve got em on the phone. Sex, muscle, good food and workin’ out, so glad I met those lab rats.

Ostello della Moda: Christofano

--- Want to read more? View all stories by TheBurdenBorne ---

Tyler tried arguing with the man at the luggage counter but it was getting him nowhere. "My luggage was never transferred from Oslo ... but what will I do?" Tyler had planned on arriving later than his friends, but at the last minute, his booking company offered him a free upgrade to travel earlier. He was supposed to get there in the evening, but it was only 10:00 AM. Clearly, this "free" upgrade had cost him a day without his luggage. He had checked everything except a small backpack with his passport, phone, and a sweatshirt. He basically had the clothes on his back.

"And ... when my luggage comes ... you will transfer it to my hotel?" he asked.

"Yes," said the man speaking with very broken English. "Ostello della Moda..." he continued in rapid Italian. A few minutes later, he had negotiated with a few more customer service agents to get a free taxi ride to the hostel. The driver said he worker for "Ostello" and would bring him there immediately. But after an hour of winding through the grimier streets of Milan, Tyler wasn't so sure he trusted the man. The taxi drove past what looked like the red carpet to a fashion show or celebrity event. A few meters later, the cab pulled into a gated courtyard.

"Ostello della Moda," said the driver.

"Are you sure?" said Tyler. "This doesn't look like the picture I remember." The driver opened the trunk, jumped out and grabbed his backpack. Before Tyler could open his door, the driver ran into the courtyard with his backpack.

"Shit!" Tyler shouted as he struggled with the door, stumbled out of the cab, and raced after the man. The man turned into a dark door and Tyler followed him. He needed to get his backpack! Otherwise, he was lost in Italy with no phone, no IDs, and no money! He burst into the dark room and was knocked out cold by a stranger hiding inside.

"No ... please ... I don't have anything ..." Tyler mumbled as a pair of men pinned him down. His cab driver had opened his backpack and found his money and ID. "Let me go ... please ..." But the men had him trapped. One of them put a cloth over his mouth that had a fragrant chemical -- almost cologne like. He gagged a little, but then relaxed. He drifted off to sleep...

When he woke up, he could faintly hear electronic dance music through the walls. He had expected to be tied up in a dark room somewhere, but was just sitting on a chair in what looked like a dressing room. He blinked in the bright lights and saw that he had been stripped except for pair of tight athletic shorts. He looked down at his body in shock. His dark tan skin was covered in short curly hairs. His torso and abs were chiseled. His arms had small veins popping out toned muscle. He looked in the mirror and saw dark eyes looking back, a sexy stubbled jaw, and a thin dark mustache and goatee.

"Merda, che ora è?" he thought to himself, realizing a second later, than he had thought the phrase in Italian, not English. His head was pounding and the music seemed to be getting louder.

A short aggressive woman burst into the room and shouted at him. "Christo! Mossa! Tu sei il prossimo!" He jumped up and raced after her. He was backstage of a theatre that was filled with smoke, bright lights, and upbeat electronic music. Dozens of other men were crowded around him, each surrounded by crew members adjusting their clothes, fixing their makeup, and pushing them towards the door onto the stage. One of the crew dangled some necklaces over his neck and placed a neon baseball cap on his head. They adjusted a few bracelets on his arms. A young man wearing a headset pointed at him as the crew finished by oiling his chest so he looked sweaty and rugged. In a second, he followed the man in front of him onto the runway.

It was an exhilarating experience. Dozens of cameras flashed as he walked down the runway, making his turns, and modeling his body and clothes. He felt empowered as they gazed on his nearly naked body. It was a primal and raw feeling. He turned back towards the entrance -- a completely changed man! He had become Christofano -- one of hundreds of male models working in fashion district of Milan. With every new outfit, every camera flash, and every trip down the runway, he was embracing his new life.

After the show, he found was given a backpack with a set of clothes. He assumed they were his, so his way back to the courtyard where the taxi had dropped him off. The driver was waiting there. He handed him a cell phone and passport, which he said that Christofano had left behind accidentally in the cab. He thanked him and they drove off to the "Ostello della Moda." He saw a message from the airport and the hostel on his phone. His bag had been transferred to the hostel, he was in Bunk C. He texted his friend, who he hoped would meet him at the bar for a night of celebration.

In his mind, the thoughts of the airport, the missing luggage, the mysterious taxi driver, reminded him of something -- it was odd! But, then he remembered that he had done a photo shoot in Oslo recently ... or had he? Was he meeting some American friends at the hostel? But, who did he know from America? And wasn't his career based in Milan? Was he living in a hostel? Didn't he have an apartment that he shared with his friends ... what were there names? He couldn't remember, but figured it was probably fatigue from the show.

He walked into the hostel and the host greeted him. He explained the whole situation with the luggage -- two of his friends had arrived, but he should just wait at the bar. He drained his first beer, still a little lost about why he was spending the night at this hostel. Suddenly, someone shouted out his name.

"Christo!"

He turned to the man, a wave of recognition passing over him. "Antonio!"

They talked about how tonight they were celebrating with friends. First, they needed to drink! Then, they had a surprise for Bruno ... their friend waiting upstairs!

Paxton Learns His Lesson - Collab with Aardvark

Paxton is a delinquent whose mother has had enough. He’s not happy when she sends him to live with his grandparents in sleepy Hart’s Landing, but the town comes to grow on Paxton in a most dramatic way. - Written by myself and @aardvarkia.

To say Paxton Montcalm wasn’t pleased with his situation was an understatement.

It was stupid, really. All he’d done was take his teacher’s pepper spray and air it out underneath his desk. How the hell was he supposed to know that was considered poisoning other people and assault with a deadly weapon…? Or whatever the judge said - Paxton had hated his fat face, so he hadn’t paid much attention beyond “you’re in trouble now, you little fuck-up!” (Yeah, no shit. He had noticed he was in court, thanks.)

He’d done his community service, apologized, even sucked up a little, but the adults just were not satisfied. Paxton had decided fine, fuck them, he’d just do what he wanted again. No one seemed to give a shit when he tried to make amends. And then he’d snuck out after curfew and gotten caught by some roided-up cop. DeSanto or something. His mother had had enough and informed him that he was going to spend the summer in Hart’s Landing, South Carolina with his grandparents.

“That’s not fair!” Paxton had protested. Upon seeing the thunderous look his mother had shot back, he’d blanched.

“No, I’ll tell you what’s not fair, little boy!” she’d roared, jumping up from the table. “What’s not fair is that I have to continually leave work to bail your ass out, using up my hard-earned cash. I’m a waitress, Paxton. I don’t even make minimum goddamn wage! I can barely afford the rent, everyone either ignores me, thinks I’m a shitty parent, or pities me! The fact that you’ve been here as long as you have is a downright miracle and, frankly, a testament to my patience!” She’d stopped, taken a deep breath, and lit up a cigarette, walking to the sink and taking a long drag. Holding it in, she had opened the window, exhaled, then hung her head. “You’re going. That’s final. Now go to your room. You don’t have to sleep, but I don’t want to look at you.”

Before Paxton could really process this - his mother had never exploded at him before, despite all the dumb shit he’d done - he was on a bus down to South Carolina. It was a long ride from Brooklyn, but he’d managed to pass the time by chatting up some cute chicks and reading a copy of FLEX he’d nicked from one of the bus terminals.

The bus stop wasn’t far from his grandparents’ house, and they met him there. Grandma Rose and Grandpa Walker were just how he remembered them from their last visit on his 10th birthday. Old, decrepit, and kind of smelly.

“Oh, just look at you!” Rose cooed, pinching his cheek and giving him a big kiss. She left a bright red lipstick print on his cheek.

“Hi, gram,” he muttered.

“Stand up straight,” Walker ordered, “and march. I know full well what you did, and I won’t have any of that tomfoolery in my house. You hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear ya,” Paxton replied sarcastically.

And that had gotten him dragged two blocks to his grandparents’ bungalow by his ear.

Keep reading

Protocol 69

---

Originally posted on 2023-06-24 by dumb-and-jocked. (Thanks again for dumb-and-jocked for all your stories!)

This story was nuked quite quickly last time, I recall. So, please reblog in effort to keep multiple copies alive.

Last thing: I am sorry this post does not have any italics/bold! I had some issues properly saving it back then. If anyone cares I'll try recover the formatting.

---

“I’m sorry Officer, but did I do something wrong?”

After a 10 hour drive with tumultuous traffic, I’d expected to get some rest in the hotel room my company had paid for when they’d sent me to Texas for a business conference. I wasn’t too far out of the Dallas-Fort Worth area, but apparently far enough for some forms of homophobia to proudly exist. When I had pulled in, I immediately noticed the front desk glare at the pride sticker on my back window. When they’d picked up the phone right after, I’d assumed the two events were unrelated. But the cop standing calmly in front of his vehicle parked beside mine told me differently.

“Nothin’ we can’t fix,” the officer replied ominously in that classic drawl.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” I started politely. “But I’m very exhausted, and I’ve got some important meetings to attend first thing tomorrow. If you don’t have anything to arrest me for, then I’m going to respectfully leave.”

“Yer kind ain’t welcome in these parts.” The officer’s response was calculated. “Just cause I can’t arrest ya doesn’t mean I can’t still bring ya in.”

“Is that so?” I questioned, becoming a little agitated.

“They’re called ‘correctional facilities’ for a reason,” he added.

“So you’re gonna jail me for being gay?”

“For threatening this town’s good traditional values and lifestyle?” the officer manipulated. “Then yes, yes I sure will.”

The officer then approached me with a pair of handcuffs. I wanted to fight back, and it took everything in me not too, but I was familiar with how these things could go down. He stood fairly tall and was well-built; a classic All-American family man. I was a college runner who clocked in a few inches under 6 feet, so running could have been an option if I wanted to engage. But I’d wait it out, play the little game until my future lawsuit kicked this homophobe and his whole department to hell.

But something in the back of my mind was still flicking the panic button. All of this seemed too easy for the officer, too habitual. As if he knew exactly what he was doing. As if he’d done this many times before. As if this wasn’t the first time this had happened and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

— —

The last thing I could remember was sitting down in the back of that officer’s vehicle with my hands behind my back. He opened the door for me and I followed instructions, but I couldn’t place what happened after he’d started the car. In fact, I had no idea of how I had gotten into my current situation. The old interrogation room was empty, besides the entire back wall that was lit by a projector. My clothes were gone, leaving me completely naked. And my penis was placed in some kind of tube. I tried to yank it out, but the device was not going to give it up.

“Hello!” I shouted angrily. “You can’t do this!”

There was no reply, but the projector screen did light up. Letters began to appear along the bricks, spelling out what I prayed to anyone above was not actually possible: “Protocol 69: Conversion Operationalization Activated.”

“Hey!” Desperation was beginning to show in my voice. “No, please don’t! I don’t know what is happening but don’t do this! I’ll do whatever it is you want, please!”

My cries for help were meaningless however. No one appeared to hear me or respond. Instead, the words flashed before disappearing. Something new began to boot up on the screen, an introduction video of sorts.

“Welcome to Benbrook,” a cheery male voice began as an old cartoon began to play. It looked like some educational video from the Reagan Era. “This growing Texan city welcomes you to all the finer things in the American life.”

Suddenly, the tube my dick was currently stuck in began to move. As if awakening from a great slumber, a portion of the device groggily creaked before swiveling itself around my cock. All 5 inches were rapidly on display as the tube proceeded to jack me off, twisting and pulling and turning and releasing as it gave me the most sensual action of my life. I was no virgin, but I had never felt anything like this before.

“However, if you are currently watching this video, that means you’ve come to tarnish and harm the great opportunities Benbrook can provide you with.” The cartoon placed a word across the screen that flashed as if it was a warning alarm. The “H” in “Homosexual” appeared particularly loud. “We hope you understand that the upcoming process you’re about to undergo is meant to not only protect our safety and way of life, but to enhance your own as well.”

I was trying so hard to find a way to escape, but the dazzling colors of the projector and the edging experience down below were hindering my focus. Instead of fighting back, I simply moaned as my dick underwent its electronically-sensual torture and watched as a dingy spiral came into view. My eyes centered in on the old-timey display that swirled around in circles. I couldn’t tell if the fluttering of my eyelids were due to the sexual action below or what my eyes were now hypnotized by above.

While the spiral and the tube instrument performed their jobs, I began to feel something squirting out of my cock. It wasn’t semen, precum, or even piss for that matter. Although I wasn’t able to completely look down, I could see a glittery, luminescent stream now flowing through the tube. Something was being drained out of me, but I was too distracted by the spiral and too turned on by the mechanical sucking to care. It just felt so good to give in to the spiral and not worry about anything else but being pleased. The machines were doing me a favor really. I didn’t have to think; all I had to do was watch while I was given pleasure.

The glittery flow continued out of my body, causing my breathing to hurry a bit as the progression towards ecstasy continued. Grabbing the tube to steady myself, I didn’t notice my grip expand and solidify harder across the machine. My digits expanded, my feet following suit as they too bloated across the cold metal floor. After a while, my meaty fingers were able to surround the entirety of the tube. My feet–although I didn’t bother looking at them–were now able to grasp me firmly to the ground; their Size 14 nature containing the strength meant to hold the weight of a real man.

With the spiral and pump still working their magic, I couldn’t be bothered with watching how my legs and arms were changed next. As the homosexual energy was removed from my body, my ligaments were allowed to expand. Biceps and triceps that had never existed before blew up like balloons. Calves inflated in certain areas while shrinking in others, creating legs meant less for long distance running and more for shorter sprints. The quads swelled too, now able to do so being that they were no longer needed for any track. They were now created for sports played by alphas: football, basketball, and baseball. None of that cross country or tennis pansy crap.

After the shoulders had finished broadening with an incredible lengthening to my deltoids, the glitter was able to leave my torso next. My pits filled in with curly bushes of tangled hair, matted with sweat and stinking to the high Heaven. And even with the plump pecs and removal of body fat that was happening to my expanding frame, the forests would never be able to be completely hidden. By suctioning out the energy, my abs were showcased in a more elite form. Each abdominal was now hard across my stomach, all eight leading down to a perfect treasure trail that had never been able to grow before now. My height had been extended too, now putting me well over the 6 feet I’d never reached before.

The stream was flowing steadily now, extracting my homosexuality from what I assumed had to be the most concentrated areas: my head and my cock. Being that they were the only two parts of my real self left unscathed, this next part of the process would probably be gruesome. My buttocks were first to change, clenching hard as their luxurious fat was eliminated to create muscled pillows similar to my pecs. My hole closed in on itself almost immediately after, its purpose now reduced to duties only regarding objects exiting the body. My balls ripened and plumped into a generous sack, and my hard dick sputtered an extra few inches forward. The tube was still able to manage the added girth however, all 8 inches fitting into an even tighter squeeze than before.

With a grunt and dazed gaze at the projector screen, I watched lazily as words began to flutter across the screen. Although I was in no state of mind to focus–and I certainly should have been doing it towards literally anything else–I used all of my remaining willpower to try and decipher the letters that flashed upon the screen. While doing so, the tube continued to suck out the remaining substance of my homosexuality. My chin widened into a shape so square and masculine it was almost comical. My brow popped out to create a more Neanderthal-look, pursing my eyebrows and lips basically permanently. My hair was shaped into something more typical and douche-like. I couldn’t see it, but I knew I had been created into a breeding machine.

“Boobs” was the first word I was able to decipher from the projector. I grunted and began feeding my monster cock to the tube as if I was in charge. “Pussy” came next, followed by “Clit” and “Cunt”. The tube began to let up around my dick, but I didn’t care anymore. I was so hard, so horny, and for some reason it was for the words that flashed across the brick wall. With the help of “Vagina” and the simple “Woman”, I asserted my dominance and proceeded to thrust into the machine myself, my throbbing penis shooting in and out.

The tube had stopped moving, but it didn’t matter to me anymore. I had only one thing on my mind. “Impregnate” the screen suddenly read, adding to the list of words already revolving around the screen. “Propagate” wasn’t too far behind, and neither was “Seed.” Suddenly, my horny fantasies didn’t just revolve around women. I realized I wanted to fill them, get my babies to coat their entire inner bodies. I wanted to…I wanted to… “Breed.” Yes, I wanted to breed. I wanted to multiply, make an entire generation of me. Identical to me. Same looks, same goals, same ideologies.

And before I knew it, even more words had been tossed into the mix. “Homophobia” arrived with a sting, a certain loathsome tingle erupting out around my body. “Alpha” was preceded by “Dominant,” and “Superior” was proceeded by “Traditionality.” All of these words sunk into my brain, accepting the new mindset as my ideals connected with my sexuality.

The programming gradually flickered faster, each new pulse sending a tiny bit more pressure to my dick. My thrusting grew more aggressive in response. I grabbed onto the tube with a renewed sense of strength and felt my gaze leave the projector’s trance for the first time. Allowing my eyes to roll back into my head, I released a dumb groan as the glittery stream dried up.

With one final thrust, a massive shot of my own cum was sent down the tube. The projector had finally stopped, displaying only “Thanks for watching!” in cutesy, bouncing letters before shutting off. The room went dark after that, but I blacked out before I even realized it.

— —

“Oh yeah,” I groaned as she sat on my lap, my massive schlong shoved up her tight pussy. “Ain’t that just right.”

Without saying a word, I got to work and felt my cock immediately getting ready to fire. When it came down to business, I could get my babymaker spewing fast. And being that I still had at least two other girls in town that needed to get rid of their flat stomachs before I went to work in an hour, I had to fertilize these chicks FAST!

“That’s right babygirl,” I was able to say between grunts. However, my cock immediately deflated when I noticed a sedan pull up across the street. The sedan itself was a crime–only trucks should be driven in Texas after all–but the “LGBTQIA+” sticker on the back nauseated me beyond belief. Visible disgust came over my face quickly, causing as my current conquest to ask me what was wrong. I grabbed my phone and explained I had to make a quick call to her dad. It wouldn’t take more than a minute I promised.

“Benbrook Police Department,” a sturdy, masculine voice answered.

“Yo brochacho, I’d like to report in a Protocol 69.”

“Hmm,” the other side mumbled disapprovingly. “Location of the illegitimate?”

“’The Real Man’s Tools’.” I followed my answer with a dumb chuckle. I always forgot how clever the hardware store’s motto was: “…besides a woman that is!”

“Car make and model?”

“You’ll know it, bro.”

“Not American-made?”

The babe still riding my cock shoved a finger in my mouth, signaling she wanted to continue.

“Are they…evuh?” The words were barely able to escape my mouth. The officer laughed in response on the other end as she began sliding up and down my dick slowly, getting us back to where we had left off.

“Thanks for the report,” the officer replied. “Please continue yer civil duties.”

“Will do, dude.”

The line hung up on itself, which was probably for the best with my hands already being wrapped back around my current score. I felt my load tense up as it began to prepare itself for semination. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see an officer’s cruiser pull up alongside the homo’s vehicle. Looks like we were both about to bring a straight, Texan, alpha male into the world.