Bottomtotop - Blog Posts

Alpha Orders

--- Originally posted on 2023-08-12 by dumb-and-jocked. ---

“Troy?”

“In here!”

Marco walked into the living room, spotting his roommate lounged out on the couch. Although he didn’t look 22, Troy’s youthful figure was almost completely absorbed by whatever game he was playing. His petite body was tense and focused. He looked like one of those hairless cats ready to spring forward.

“Whatcha playin’?” Marco asked.

“It’s some new game Franklin gave me,” Troy replied. Franklin was also a nerdy type, but while Troy just mostly looked the part, Franklin actually played the part. Glasses, suspenders, kind of a pushover. It was strange that someone could fit a stereotype so perfectly.

“It’s called Alpha Orders.”

“Kinda like ‘Simon Says’?” Troy asked, grabbing a snack from the kitchen. Since college had started, he’d put on a considerable amount of weight. He fit the ex-jock bill pretty well. But his girlfriend didn’t mind. In fact, she remarked about liking the pudge that had started filling in his frame. As long as he shaved, she always joked, he wouldn’t look like a bear.

“Kinda…” Troy mumbled. Marco shoved a handful of Goldfish down his throat and looked over his roommate once more. The shrimp sure was invested. His eyes appeared somewhat glazed over.

“Seeing how much you love it, do you think I should try it once you’re finished?”

It took Troy a moment to respond. Suddenly, Troy’s body pumped up. Almost like a heartbeat, but affecting his entire body as if someone had pushed the lever down on a tire pump. Marco blinked, rationalizing that his eyes were playing tricks on him out of hunger. The loose button-up and straight jeans Troy was wearing didn’t look any tighter. Yeah, he just needed some more Goldfish down the hatch. Marco eagerly complied with the prescription he’d given himself.

“Uh…” Troy started slowly. “You should just…go to Franklin. Get another copy.”

“Oh,” Marco replied flatly. It was a little odd that Troy didn’t want to share with him after he was done. It was usually chill when it came to the roommates swapping stuff between each other. But if Marco was being honest he didn’t really mind taking the short trip. He didn’t have any homework or plans today anyway, so going over to Franklin’s wouldn’t be a bother.

“Sure, not a bad idea,” Marco shrugged, tossing a few more crackers in his mouth. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Marco had only been to Franklin’s place once or twice to pick Troy up, but he still knew the way to the nerd’s house. Those two looked oddly alike with their small, thin frames and youthful faces. And by how often those two hung out, heck, they could’ve been secretly dating for all he knew. But Marco remembered wingmanning for Troy once. It hadn’t gone particularly well, but Marco did end up with the chick who’d passed Troy off later that night. Luckily, his roommate had never found about the one nighter.

Marco knocked on the door to Franklin’s place. “Franklin? It’s Marco.”

“Yeah,” a rumbling bass replied back, allowing for Marco to open the door. A blast of sweaty musk spilled outwards, causing Marco to stagger. He blinked, hoping to clear his head a little before he entered. He always forgot how pungent the man was, especially in a concentrated place like the apartment.

Sitting back in a recliner was Mr. F, stripped down to just a pair of tiny running shorts. Marco could tell the man was commando underneath the controller–the guy never did try to hide his monster cock. And why should he? He was a total alpha male after all. Tall, well-built, hairy. Had a voice that shook the room and an attitude that shook people’s knees. Including the guy that was at Mr. F’s massive feet, servicing them diligently as Mr. F played his game. Marco didn’t mind though, knowing Mr. F deserved this kind of specialized treatment.

“Mr. F,” Marco started, pacing across the room.

“What do you want?” Mr. F got right to the point. He didn’t even try looking away from the screen.

“I was wondering if I could borrow a copy of that game you gave Troy.” Marco shrugged, not knowing what else to say. “Alpha Orders.”

“Check the kitchen table.”

Marco did as instructed, finding exactly what he was looking for.

“Get me a beer while you’re at it too,” Mr. F commanded. Marco obeyed, not even thinking twice as he snatched a bottle from the fridge and brought it to the man. He didn’t even regard the boy who was currently beside his own feet.

Marco blinked, noticing his apartment door presented in front of him. Wasn’t he just at Mr. F’s place? The game was still in his hand, and everything else looked in order. Except for his watch, which read a full four hours later than when he had arrived at the other man’s residence. But to get to Mr. F’s was only a ten minute drive? Marco didn’t know what had happened, but he had gotten what he wanted. No point in thinking about it much longer.

Marco opened the front door and strolled in, noticing a peculiar thickness to the air. Although he couldn’t see his roommate, some audio from the living room alerted him that Troy was still there. Marco didn’t even bother kicking off his shoes as he strolled into the kitchen and snatched a granola bar. He figured he’d be bunking down in his own room for a bit so as to not disturb his roommate. Being the bigger (much bigger) half of the pair, Marco knew he’d be more of a nuisance than if Troy had been in the same situation.

“Hey dude, still at it…” Marco droned off. On the couch was a man–a real masculine, macho man. He was taller than Marco, larger than Marco, and exuded a more dominant aura than Marco. He was like a crossover between a bodybuilder and a lumberjack, filling out the blue flannel with his solid pecs, thick shoulders, and hairy arms. The jeans were tight around his lower half too, leading all the way to the massive Size 14 feet propped up on the coffee table. And Marco couldn’t believe the size of this man’s junk. He thought the controller lying on top was vibrating, but after a few moments he realized it was the giant lump underneath that was actually throbbing.

“‘Bout time you got here,” the man grunted. He casually itched the massive beard on his face, which was somehow still not enough to hide the lantern jaw hidden within. “I texted you a while ago.”

Marco blinked. “Oh, sorry Mr. T, I-”

“You shouldn’t make me wait,” Mr. T asserted, his gruff tone making him sound older than his 37 years. “I had to stop my game. I was near the end.”

Marco turned towards the screen, noticing that his roommate was already 80% finished with the main task. Whatever that was.

“Mr. T, I’m sorry,” Marco started. “I was at Mr. F’s and lost track of time.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Mr. T corrected. “Apologize to the lads.”

Marco nodded, getting down on his knees and leaning in towards Mr. T’s feet. Both of them had a pungent funk, but it was more subtle than Mr. F’s. After a quick bow of his head, Marco kissed both of them, expressing his most sincere remorse as to not being there when needed. As the alpha in the apartment, Mr. T naturally needed service regularly. Marco was always happy to oblige, as it was his position on the social ladder. It had nothing to do with sexuality after all. Quite the opposite. Both of the men were ramrod straight, but Mr. T was born to dominate men everywhere but the bedroom.

“Good boy.” Mr. T had yet to look up from his phone once. “Now go off to another room, I will call you when I need you.”

Marco did as he was told, grabbing his things and moving off to his room. He shut the door behind him politely so as to not disturb the other man. He couldn’t believe he screwed up like that, so focused on getting this silly game that he’d been late for his primary role as a good roommate. Marco just hoped it was worth all the hype.

Marco popped the disc into his personal console and kicked back in the couch. He casually readjusted his pouch underneath his sweats, noting the strip of bare skin now visible due to the ballooning of his stomach. He huffed disappointedly, knowing this white shirt was just one of the many that had become victims to his recent…expansion.

“ALPHA ORDERS,” the screen read aggressively. Securing his headphones over his baseball cap, Marco hit the play button. A loading screen appeared next, an arrow creating the same biological gender symbol for male over and over. It would loop in a circle, before jutting off at the last moment to the top right. And then it would start again, and again, and again. Marco just watched on, waiting.

“ALPHA ORDERS…” the screen began, causing Marco to ready his controller. “YOU TO EMBODY AND EXALT THE MULTIFACETED VIRTUES OF MASCULINITY.”

Marco just stared at the screen, not knowing what exactly to do. Was this some kind of puzzle game? Like was he supposed to hit a certain button based off of the prompt given to him? He blinked, unsure of what to do. He already did embody masculinity with his well-muscled frame, the fur underneath his shirt covering it, and his aura of testosterone. And he exalted it alright, making sure to display his masculinity at all times. Although this white shirt wasn’t doing his stacked abs any justice.

A little ping sounded from the screen as he moved onto the second task. Marco didn’t know how the game had registered something, but he couldn’t help if even technology could sense his manliness.

“ALPHA ORDERS…YOU TO RESIDE AT THE TOP OF THE HIERARCHY AND ESTABLISH OTHERS’ PLACE BENEATH IT.”

Marco blinked, making sure to fondle his hefty pouch generously. Oh yeah, he knew what kind of power he had. Pussies practically called to him and his 9-incher. Marco was a predator, always on the winning team. Getting serviced whenever he wanted was guaranteed to him. There was a reason people called him “Mr. M”, “Sir”, or even “Master.” He wasn’t toxic; Marco was in-toxic-ating. Any alpha man was. Everyone loves an arrogant douchebag because they knew their place. His dick was begging for attention beneath his sweats, and going commando made it easy for Marco to give it a quick tug.

“ALPHA ORDERS…YOU TO FOLLOW PRIMAL INSTINCT–BRAIN IS FOR BETA, MANHOOD IS FOR MAN.”

Marco rubbed his eyes, having to read the stupidity of that last part again. He thought it was stupid, but after blinking he recognized its truth. Yeah he was led by his pussystuffer! What was he supposed to do? Listen to his head? Marco knew that was useless. Learning was for nerds, and school was for…ultra nerds. He wasn’t a loser! His dick led him wherever he needed to go. Gotta get some cash? Find someone to give it to him with his cock. Hungry? Someone will feed him food while he feeds them with his own personal sausage. Need a blowjob? That will come from any chick around no questions asked.

“ALPHA ORDERS…YOU TO PRODUCE AN AURA THAT INSPIRES LOYALTY AND SUBMISSION.”

Marco blinked, taking in a whiff of his own body odor while doing so. He twitched a little, noting a little bit of heat at the end that made his musk all the more enticing. Marco stunk up everywhere he went; deodorants just couldn’t mask his manly aroma. It wasn’t a crime to smell like an ALPHA! Marco’s natural, masculine scent just put those other betas to shame. With damp, bushy pits and Size 13 stompers, it was practically Marco’s destiny to have an ever present, robust malodorous cloud.

Marco’s eyes briefly moved up to the top of the screen, noting his task bar was at 80%. It was right where his roommate had stopped earlier. He hoped that meant he was close. He needed someone to worship him NOW!

“ALPHA ORDERS…” the screen read. Marco blinked, noticing the screen was taking a longer time than usual to display its next command. He blinked again, bringing a hand down to his crotch. Marco couldn’t believe it, blinking again. He began furiously groping himself, bringing himself to the edge as he waited. What was the final order? What was he supposed to do? Marco blinked, feeling a rush spiral down his spine right into his cannon. What did Alpha Order?

“YOU TO BE FULLY HOMOSEXUAL TO COMPLETELY DOMINATE OTHER MEN BY MIND, BODY, AND ACTION.”

Marco’s mouth dropped. Was this game serious? How was he supposed to accomplish this task? It wasn’t like he could just suddenly go gay. Sure, he knew when another man was handsome or good looking, but he had never swung that way. Marco knew other guys servicing him came off as strange sometimes–even his girlfriend had questioned him on it once or twice–but that was just to display his authority. But he never found it erotic! It just wasn’t his thing. Marco blinked, simply not understanding what to do.

Because he was already the gayest guy he knew around. He loved men and boys. There was nothing that made him happier than dumping a dude on the ground and ripping them open. He adored the way they treated his body like the temple it was. The way they worshiped him like the god he was. Men were the best at pleasuring other men, so it only made sense an alpha like him was gay. Frank, Troy, Marco; they all understood the best way to be at the top of the ladder was to put other men in their places beneath them, whether it be sucking on his cock or his toes.

“Yo, Marco!” Troy announced as he entered the room. “I got some boys rolling over here in 10. I will let you claim dibs on which part you want to serv…”

Troy stopped, observing the jockish man staring at the screen in front of him.

Troy blinked, registering his fellow alpha had just finished whatever game he had been playing.

“What did you say?” Marco’s voice had a cocky, sultry air to it.

“I said I got some boys rolling over here in 10.” Troy rolled his eyes. “I will let you claim dibs on one of them if you need to be serviced right now.”

Without moving his eyes off the screen, Marco shut down his console and scratched his ball sack.

“Bro, alphas like us always need to be serviced.”

Good Game

---

Originally posted on 2022-06-06 by dumb-and-jocked.

This was a collaboration piece with @rozza22365.

---

“Babe, how did you know exactly what I needed?” Brenden asked, skipping happily along the trail with his boyfriend’s hand in his own.

“I have my ways,” Chaz replied nonchalantly, although it was evident he’d thought about this long and hard. The whole day had gone according to his plan of making Brenden feel as relaxed as possible. After a very stressful promotion process at Brenden’s hair salon, Chaz knew the 22-year-old was going to need a break. He planned a romantic weekend getaway involving time at the beach, a stroll through the local park, and a fancy meal for dinner followed by “dessert”. Chaz was working hard to help his boyfriend take a step back from reality. Brenden just needed to slow down to keep his miniature body from exploding.

And by miniature, Chaz meant the 5’5 skinnier-than-a-flagpole twink hopping beside him like a delicate gazelle. His stick-like figure (along with the platinum-blonde locks gelled up in the front and a pair of beach balls in the back) often made him a target for bullying, including homophobia. Luckily, Chaz was usually enough to scare them off. The recent college-grad was only 5’11, but thanks to his many years on the swim team had developed a modest frame. He’d also gained a comfortability with public speaking and argumentation thanks to his political science degree. Once he got a job, then Chaz believed he would have everything he would need to be happy in life.

“Oh! Honey, look!”

Before Chaz could even follow Brenden’s sight line, his boyfriend was already skidding across the field. Chaz walked comfortably behind, smiling as he noticed how the light breeze blew through Brenden’s salmon-striped tank and ripped white jeans. Chaz thought about catching up, but he didn’t want to run in his cheap sandals. Not only that, but the last thing he wanted to do was rip his khakis and sweat through his casual button-up. It was already pretty warm out, so any extra effort might have strained Chaz’s body in ways that wouldn’t be attractive.

“Yum…” Brenden was basically drooling as Chaz joined him at the top of the hill. About 200 feet away were a group of jocks wrapping up what looked to be a game of baseball. They all appeared to be around the same age as the couple, except each was about double the size of both boyfriends put together. Even from a distance, one could see the jocks’ bulging muscles, shimmering layer of sweat, and (thanks to their lack of shirts) set of washboard abs. And their gym shorts perfectly showcased the numerous perky behinds and overstuffed pouches. With their hats all turned backwards as well, they looked exactly like the stereotypical college jocks.

“No kidding…” Chaz joined in the ogling, watching as they packed up their gear and started heading out. The boyfriends couldn’t stop admiring how the jocks looked, strutted, and acted. Their physical features weren’t the only thing the pair noticed however. The jocks were all engaging in playful gay banter, fake-kissing and bromanticizing with each other. Although it was pretty obvious that all of them were typical arrogant, straight boys pretending to be men, Brenden and Chaz couldn’t help but fantasize about the simplicity of their life.

The couple watched on as the jocks got into two lines facing opposite directions, ready to give each other the classic “Good Game” sendoff. However, instead of giving high-fives, they instead swatted every butt playfully. Brenden and Chaz bit their lip, every jiggle of a straight male’s buttock translating into a tiny pulse of pleasure through their modest boners.

“Did we…” Chaz started. “Did we just get baited?”

“No, at least I don’t think so,” Brenden retorted, taking a breath. “I think that was all natural. Nothing gay about it.”

“No homo,” Chaz imitated in a broish tone, gaining a laugh out of his boyfriend. “Ready to head out, sweetheart?”

“Just a second.” Brenden was still looking down at the field. “I think the boys might’ve left us a present.”

Sitting on home base lay two blue baseball caps. Making sure no one else was watching, Brenden instantly made a run for it. With a small smirk, Chaz followed behind at a quicker stroll. Apparently tonight’s “dessert” was going to involve roleplay.

“Chazzy! How do I look?”

The blue hat sat comfortably on Brenden’s head, the bill shading his cute face from the harsh sun.

“Exactly like them,” Chaz responded sarcastically, placing the other hat on his head.

“Thanks, bro,” Brenden replied in his version of a broish tone before leaning in for a kiss.

“Mmm!” Chaz was surprised to feel his boyfriend’s tongue quickly slide through his mouth. Once they pulled apart, Chaz stopped any further affection, “Darling, let’s roleplay when we get home.”

“But no one’s here,” Brenden whined. “No one will see us. Now, flip your cap around.”

Chaz quickly surrendered, too horny to use any of the argumentation skills he had learned over the years. Rushed, he did one more sweep around the field before following instructions. Brenden flipped his own as well, letting the front of his quiff pour out of the empty hole in the front. Instantly, the pair felt a sharp shock strike through their bodies. They physically lurched in extreme agony for a moment, but seconds later they had already forgotten about the pain.

“So what do you say, babe,” Brenden tried replicating his broish tone again. “Should we…”

Chaz, getting the memo, leaned down for a kiss. He closed his eyes, ready to feel his boyfriend's soft lips touch the bottom of his own. Chaz kept feeling himself get lower and lower, but eventually he became confused as to why he hadn’t reached Brenden yet.

“Dude! Open your eyes!”

Chaz’s eyelids lifted to reveal Brenden’s crotch right in his face.

“Ah ew babe!” Chaz backed away in disgust. “How could you prank me like that?” Brenden however was laughing so hard that Chaz could see each one of his skinny abs rippling on his lanky body. The 6’5 beanpole was cackling up a storm.

“Gotcha!”

“I didn’t even realize I had leaned in so far,” Chaz joined in with Brenden’s jovial nature. At 6’4, he must’ve bent almost straight down in order to get to his boyfriend’s crotch. “Ok, so can I kiss you now?”

“No bro, we’re still roleplaying.” Chaz noticed how Brenden was getting more in touch with his broish tone, so he decided to follow suit.

“Alright then…broski…what’s next?”

“What’s next babe is a game of gay chicken.” Brenden appeared extremely eager for this. Chaz could tell by the way his boyfriend’s cut-like-steel and shaped-like-diamonds calves bounced excitedly back and forth.

“What’s that?” Chaz replied, positioning his own legs out into a kickstand. Thanks to his khaki shorts, people were also able to see the fine, rugged calves he owned. Similarly cut like Brenden’s, yet just a little tanner and meatier. Although if Chaz ever brought this up, Brenden would just compete by acknowledging how he was slightly taller so his calves were drawn out more.

“It’s simple, bro. It’s where basically two dudes get as close to a kiss while trying not to. The person who kisses first loses.”

Chaz considered this, a little thrown off by the game. The rules seemed simple enough, but why would his boyfriend want to play this? Chaz was so horned up right now that he could just stick his head between Brenden’s two massive thighs. Chaz could just daydream about how if he placed his skull into Brenden’s gym shorts, then his boyfriend would probably be able to break him open like a ripe watermelon. Their chunky, meaty size was almost tangible, but unfortunately that’s not the game his boyfriend wanted to play right now. Chaz instead reminded himself that it could happen tonight for dessert.

“Ok, I’m in,” Chan announced, suddenly enthused over the prospect of a challenge. He clapped his own thighs together in anticipation, sending ripples across his soft and muscular quads. Just like his boyfriend’s, they too filled his own gym shorts nicely, looking like candy with a tight wrapper.

“Sweet dude! Since I brought the game up I have to go first.” Although Brender had seemed excited, Chan noted the new tone in his voice. The use of “have'' accented a new emotion laced into his boyfriend’s words: fear. The emotion was also evident in the way Brender’s torso was super tense. The man’s abs were extremely hard, flexed to their max capacity. His tender pecs were solid while his silver-dollar nipples were rock hard. Even the man’s delts displayed apprehension, hiding away from their true larger-than-life wingspan.

Slowly but surely, Brender slowly reclined forward. To make sure he didn’t get too close and lose in the first round, he placed a porcelain hand against Chan’s carved chest. He subtly felt up his boyfriend’s 6-pack, noting how each one felt like a stone plucked straight from the earth. Brender’s finger ran up the valley into the upper torso, giving each of the mounds of flesh Chan called pectorals a cheeky squeeze. He also made sure to give a little flick to one of Chan’s nipples, which truly looked more like an udder than something meant for nothing.

Brendor got close, but he paused at about 6 inches. “Gonna be hard for you to beat that!”

“Pfft, sure bro.” Chant was pretty confident this wouldn’t be as difficult as his boyfriend had made it look. Chant took a similarly sluggish speed that Brendor had, making sure to move forward at a cautious pace. To assure he didn’t fall forward, Chant grabbed his boyfriend’s massive arms. Brendor’s forearms were so long and sturdy with veins accentuating their muscular mass. His biceps were so firm and his triceps had a similar amount of vigor. Even the other man’s hands were gigantic, looking big and solid enough to catch a baseball without the mitt.

Getting to the 6-inch mark that Brendor had made it to, Chant slowed down his pace even more. He felt his own brawny appendages become strained, his own veins snaking across robust arms. Similarly to Brendor, Chant’s biceps stood as two proud mounds atop his tanned flesh. His triceps had a identical mass, and his forearms displayed a strength that had been built up over years of hard work. His heavily-calloused, giant hands only furthered the argument by looking more fit for a package of Hamburger Helper than a human being. Right as he passed Brendor’s previous attempt, Chant gave an obnoxious set of kissy lips before taking a step back.

“Almost had me there bro,” Brenor replied in a tone that was deep, masculine, and empty.

“Huhuhuh, you wish dude.” Chent couldn’t help but guffaw, his voice an almost identical replica. Absentmindedly adjusting his rope wristband, Chent felt a rush of adrenaline race through him as he said, “Ball’s in your court.”

Brenor gave a quick nod, his bulging Adam’s apple shaking in agreement. Bending his tremendous upper traps, Brenor approached Chent’s face once again. While watching his boyfriend dip closer, Chent took his time studying every part of the other man’s face. A square jaw loosened gently with some baby fat that made him look extra adorable. Eyebrows bushy but his brown hair was at a crew cut length beneath the cap. Big nose to circulate air while working out and fading eye black to advertise that there wasn’t much behind those dull brown eyes.

Reaching in on Chent’s last milestone, Brenor carefully cupped one of his gargantuan hands against his boyfriend’s face to steady himself. He loved how it perfectly fit against the other man’s carved jaw, the way it caressed the other man’s Neatherandthal-like bone structure. He couldn’t stop himself from analyzing Chent’s crooked nose after being broken from a previous game, or the way that his blond crew cut matched his light eyebrows. Even Chent’s lackluster eyes had a certain shine to them. He wasn’t hypnotized by the looks however, he was just purely appreciating aesthetics. And with that realization, Brenor pulled away gleefully.

“Let’s go bro!” Brevor cheered, stomping his Size 15 blue Nike’s hard on the ground.

“I thought I was just about to win there, babe.” Crent playfully kicked Brevor’s shin with a Size 14 black Adidas, not noticing how the term of endearment had come out more like an insult. Noting his socks had fallen down a little, he faithfully bent down to pull them up before continuing.

“You still have time to surrender,” Crent sniggered.

“Nah bro, you’re about to fade!” Brevor may have been right, that last stretch was getting close. But that didn’t mean Crent was going to give up! Confidently, he grabbed his boyfriends behind and pulled him in. Crent may have been focusing on his game of gay chicken, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to feel up his bro’s ample bottom on the side. And wow, was he glad he did. It was thick and tough. Soft, yet too muscular to derive any pleasure from. Sneakily, Crent shoved a finger into Brevor’s butthole, finding it was way too tight to be welcoming.

“Hey!” Brevor yelped.

“Sorry, brohama,” Crent purred. “I’m just luring you in.”

“The point of the game isn’t to turn me on, dude,” Brevor sneered. “That’s a different game of gay chicken.”

“I just gotta get comfortable, bro. Just doin’ the same thing to you I do to a…”

Crent stopped himself, unsure of what word was supposed to finish that sentence. Instead of dwelling on it however, he continued. With one hand still on the butt, Crent slowly explored the rest of Brevor’s midsection. He found a pair of heavy kumquats hiding in the man’s shorts, so large they were probably painful to contain in clothing. Above those was his boyfriend’s babymaker, a soft 7 inch sausage stuffed not so subtly. Right as Crent passed Brevor’s previous point, mere centimeters away from the lips, Crent gave the other man’s dick a quick squeeze and backed off.

“Is somebro feeling a little frisky?” Brevor remarked.

“We’ll see when you kiss me,” Crent antagonized back. Not being one to back down, Brevor stuck his hand right into Crent’s shorts. Finding the soft 7 inch joystick, he pulled the other man so close that he could feel Crent’s balls rub against his. Even though they were separated by layers of fabric, Brevor was able to feel their succulent, robust nature. After giving the pouch a good squeeze, Brevor found that Crent’s buttocks shared the same descriptive adjectives. Succulent and robust, but also tense.

“What…what are you doing…bro?” Crent murmured, finding Brevor’s actions were a little less playful than his own.

“I’m losing.”

And with that, Brevor pushed himself into Crent’s lips. At first it was only Brevor kissing, but Crent got the memo and quickly began reciprocating. It wasn’t very long and it wasn’t involving tongues, but it was a kiss nonetheless. Both of the men felt odd and weird about the kiss, but part of them felt good about it too.

Immediately, the two men felt their dicks get hard followed by a constantly-looming need to touch them. Being preoccupied by their strange kiss however, they could only think of one way to resolve their issue: grinding. The two bros instantly started humping each other, as if the same, horny thought process was guiding their decisions. But with each rub against the other body, their attraction and horniness faded, becoming nothing more but amusement towards each other. The thought of actually liking each other felt pretty gay. And the more the two bros shared their gaze while kissing and humping, the less desire they felt. Instead, they discovered a great friendship and comradery towards each other.

The fading of attraction towards was closely followed by their homosexuality as a whole. Even though they were physically with their bro, they were mentally dreaming about boobs and tight pussy. Their homosexualities weren’t the only things disappearing however, as their IQ had been steadily dropping during their entire process of “appreciation of the male form”. Their minds began restructuring, new memories settling in and piecing together their new lives.

Flashes of sports, porn, and endless sex. Bad grades and rich parents, privileged backgrounds and dull futures. Lots of banter with the bros, even a bit of gay banter. Obviously, they sucked and jerked their bros off every now and then but that wasn't gay–just dude stuff. Sometimes they even destroyed nerds’ holes in order to make them do their homework, but as long as they topped it wasn’t gay. And a simple “no homo” always cleared things up though.

Laughing more as they humped, the two men (if they could really be called that) began thinking of this more as a stupid game. With so many memories of banging and impregnating countless cheerleaders and sorority chicks over the years, the thought of being gay seemed like a foreign concept. Just the idea of motorboating or ramming their cocks and seeding some bimbo made the two jocks want to-

“OH BRO!” they both shouted in unison as giant blasts of cum soaked the front of their shorts. With IQs under 90, the pair began showcasing the best of male intellect by jokingly rubbing their wet fronts against each other.

“You’re such a fag, bro!” Trent guffawed. “I knew I was gonna win.”

“Oh whatever dude,” Trevor huffed. “I wasn’t the fairy who was enjoying it.”

They both continued bantering with each other before realizing the rest of their crew had already gone back to the frat house. Accepting defeat for now, Trevor smirked and gave Trent a playful spank.

“Good game, bro,” Trevor ceded. “But I’ll getcha next time.” Trent chuckled dully before giving a smack back to Trevor’s behind.

“Sure, broski. Good game.”

Bro-Job

--- Originally posted on 2023-12-04 by dumb-and-jocked ---

BRRRRRRING!

Rodney paced awkwardly in front of the door, two voices in his head battling viscously for control. The first, which begged the question “Why am I here?!” over and over was the more persistent. A 5’5 skinny gay psych major on Greek Row? Yeah, that voice was definitely winning. The other however, the one prompting the single response of “Money.”, was enough to make Rodney stay.

“Hello?” Rodney called out, his bright tenor a little too nasally. He had come in response to a job offer put up on campus. He didn’t actually know what the job was, but it promised “All dudes welcome, free food and drinks.” The free amenities would certainly help pay for his student housing.

After still hearing nothing, Rodney decided to investigate. Someone had to be home, it wasn’t like all the frat boys would already be out and about town. Actually, that possibility didn’t seem too far-fetched. With a huff, Rodney marched his way around the massive frat house, following the driveway to the backyard. Three frat boys were parked by the detached garage, their muscly forms on full display.

“Uh,” Rodney started out. “Excuse me?”

The three men, in a heated argument over big tits or big butts, turned to face the boy half their size. Two of them wore a face of disgust, but the third popped a smile of delight.

“What can we do for you, little man?” the third greeted with two Natty Lights in one massive mitt.

Rodney gulped, noting the major size difference between him and them. “I’m uh…here for the job opening?”

The other two frat boys smirked at that response.

“Hey Chet, looks like someone finally replied,” the first chuckled.

“Cheers to that, broski!” the second, who would make any excuse for a celebratory swig, cheered.

The third, Chet, couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alright little man, let’s head in the frat house and get this interview started.”

Rodney nodded, surprised at how simple this whole ordeal was. The much larger jock tossed a bulky arm around the gay nerd and led him to the mansion. Rodney tried to hide his blush at the physical touch, praying that the frat boys wouldn’t see his small, but very present boner.

“First things first bro,” Chet started, tossing Rodney a beer. “We gotta get you a little more comfortable.”

“'Comfortable'?”

“Well sure dude,” Chet laughed, falling back into a crusty couch behind him. “I’m already four deep, so we gotta catch you up.”

Confused, but desperate enough for a job, Rodney cracked open the cold one. He took a timid sip, much to the disapproval of the frat boy.

“Nah bro, don’t be a fairy about it.” Chet shook his head as he patted for the nerd to sit behind him. Trying his best to ignore the previous comment, Rodney placed himself beside the jock. Immediately, Chet grabbed the can and lined it up to Rodney’s mouth, forcing the smaller boy to chug the rest of the beer.

“What the…!” Rodney sputtered, catching his breath. “What was that for?!”

Chet handed the kid another beer. “That’s how you smash, bro! Alright, next one.”

Rodney hated this situation, but he knew he would more despise a situation with no money. After some slight hesitation, Rodney pounded the second beer. Chet made him move through one more, joining the nerd with his own can, tacking their totals to three and five.

“Ahhh…” Chet moaned, patting the stacked eight abs underneath his sweaty tank. He then belched proudly, letting the alcohol take its course. Rodney could only watch on in amazement and an embarrassing amount of arousal.

“Now,” Chet tossed his meaty arm back around the nerd. It took Rodney a second to realize the warm, wet liquid coating his shoulder was sweat from the frat boy’s jungly armpit. “So the job-”

“Oh yeahhh...” Rodney followed with a short giggle. He guessed the alcohol was beginning to assimilate into his system.

“That’s what you’re here for!” Chet exclaimed. “It’s so easy, there’s really only so much you have to know and do.”

Rodney took a swig of his fourth beer, copying the movement Chet had displayed with his sixth can. “Well, what’s to know?”

“There’s that confidence, bro!” Chet took the arm wrapped around the nerd and gave him a playful noogie, the tangled mess cropping up into a neater bro cut. “I was wondering how long it would take for that beer pressure to start hitting you!”

Rodney wanted to correct the jock’s expression, but instead he let out a solitary hiccup. That was followed by a second swig as he watched Chet open into a grand explanation of the job’s responsibilities. 

There was a lot to take in, more than Rodney had thought there would be. The exercise standards, the room-and-board requirements, the daily bonding with bros. And while Rodney listened to everything Chet said, he didn’t realize he was also paying attention to the frat boy’s mannerisms. Rodney was so entranced at every movement of the broadcast. Every scratch, every subtle flex, the way the Adam’s apple bounced with every chug. Even Chet’s dazed-out dumbness and increasing amount of slurring was absorbed by the nerd.

What Rodney didn’t realize however was that each time he picked up on one of these moments, he mimicked it as well. The behavior was being digested into his psyche, the frat boy’s macho ideology sinking down into his core with each new swig of beer. 

While Chet discussed the height requirement, Rodney’s frame shifted underneath the jock’s grasp to notch him up to a proper 6’3. When Chet mentioned the necessary sizes of the biceps, triceps, and quadriceps, Rodney failed to notice his own arms and legs bloating out to gigantic muscular portions. And with each and every swig of beer Chet took, Rodney copied and pasted.

BUUUUUUURRRRRP!

“Ah yeahhhhh!” Chet proclaimed, dropping his seventh empty can. “Let’s see what you’ve got in there, bro.”

With a hearty swat, the frat boy smacked Rodney’s small gut. His torso immediately deflated under Chet’s touch, sharpening out into eight stacked abs that fit perfectly underneath his cushy pectorals.

Buh-UUURRRP!

“Huhuhuh,” Rodney chuckled, not noticing his voice was morphing into Chet’s silky-smooth baritone with every syllable. “Like…that felt sooo gooood.”

“Of course it did, bro!” Chet obnoxiously replied. “That’s how frat life always is!”

Rodney watched as Chet groped himself with his free hand. Although it was more than that really: tugging at his massive cock and balls. Rodney then noticed the swath of pubes spilling out over the waistband of Chet’s tiny shorts, realizing the frat boy was going commando.

This typically would’ve excited him, almost to the point of bursting right there, but Rodney's meager dick had surprisingly gone dormant. Rodney rationed it was the alcohol, noting that he’d already started his sixth can. And he was thankful for the lack of attention anyway. If Chet would’ve seen him get hard over another dude, that would’ve been awkward. Yet Rodney couldn't exactly figure out why...

With one hand still handling his boys, Chet suddenly grew quiet and leaned in close to Rodney. His breath was warm and laced with alcohol, each tickling Rodney’s neck before climbing down his shirt, the shirt that had removed its buttons, expensive material, and sleeves.

Rodney watched as Chet got his hand out of his shorts and began feeling up Rodney, piece by piece.

“These arms, brochacho…” Chet murmured, wiping his ball sweat across Rodney’s thick, tanned canvas. Small hairs poked up in Chet’s wake. Chet then lifted one of Rodney’s arms and took a sniff, as if inspecting for quality. Sure enough, a rotten smell emerged from the chestnut groves that had erupted within Rodney’s pits, yet that was the fresh quality Chet had been looking for.

After a quick swig, which was repeated on Rodney’s part, Chet’s massive hand swooped down towards Rodney’s legs, evaluating the meat. Rodney only watched on with a lazy smile, propping his legs out into a typical, bro-ish manspread to accommodate. Without warning, Chet’s hand then launched underneath Rodney’s buttocks, giving one of his cheeks a sharp pinch.

“Hey! Watch it, homo!” Rodney shouted, not catching the slur or the fact that his exclamation had come out with complete clarity.”

“Woah woah, broooo…” Chet slowly pulled his hands back. “I’m just checkin’ if we’re sealed shut dude, wouldn’t want the fairies intruding.”

Sinking immediately back into his drunken haze, Rodney nodded along pleasantly. He thanked his bro for watching out for him, his hole silently shutting tight in response.

Chet let another belch loose before continuing, “Minddd if I tell you a secret, brooo?”

Chet got closer to Rodney, even going as far as to place his sweaty, socked, Size 14 feet on top of Rodney’s.

“Yyyyyeeah dude…” Rodney slurred back.

“Huhuhuh,” Chet started. “See the sorority…rity next door brah?”

Rodney shifted a bit in his seat, slightly turning his own sweaty, socked, Size 14 feet.

“I just banged like…” Chet had to take a second to count. “Ten…eleven…eleven…twelve of those chicks last week. I set…like…a completely new record brochacho!”

The pair burst out into a massive drunken laugh fest, tossing their heads back in an exaggerated manner. Rodney chugged the rest of his beer messily, some droplets splashing onto the bushy mustache crawling over his upper lip like a caterpillar. They both tossed their sixth and eighth behind them.

“Nowwwww…” Chet slowly started again. “We’ve discussed the bro-knows, but now we oughta get to the bro-dos of the Bro-Job.”

“Brahhhh…” Rodney echoed. “The way you’re sayin…sounds kinda gay man…”

Rodney didn’t even consider why this could be a problem.

Chet moved on, “Brah, how I handle my initiations…it's gotta be personal.”

“Init…inuiti…initiations?” Rodney tried to ask, struggling on the word.

“These Bro-Jobs dude…” Chet tried again, screwing off his backwards cap before fixing it onto Rodney’s head. “They're serious busy-nesss….”

Rodney snickered at the odd pronunciation, his jaw and browline growing more pronounced after each chuckle. He then tossed back the rest of his beer, crushing it in one of his massive paws.

“Brah…I need more beeeeerrrr, stat.” 

“Heh, don’t we all bro,” Chet crushed his own empty can before adding it to the disarray of the messy house. “But you gotta pass the initiation man! Your next beer can is your own!”

The frat boy said it in a way where even though the statement made no sense, in their drunken comradery it held like a secret code. 

“Wha…bro…arrrrre you sayin’-?”

“No homo man” Chet immediately quelled the alarm that had been arising in Rodney’s system. “It’s just a part of the Bro-Job…gotta…gotta add more of that frat sauce to the brew or somethin’...”

Both of them stuck their hands down into each other’s packages through their tiny shorts, which Rodney didn’t remember his own had been long slacks before. Or that he had been wearing underwear before. But what did strike Rodney as odd was the manner of this exchange. It still felt off.

“But…” Rodney tried to find the clarity he needed through his drunken incoherent mass of thoughts. “Kinda...gay brah?”

The not-so homosexual man flinched, his lingering sexuality slowly succumbing with the strangely tough pulls that enlarged his precious tap forcefully. It wasn’t long until Rodney’s pride and joy were surging with the same potent and propagating brew of the frat boy who was pumping him. His manhood was now a giant spout, with his swollen balls filled with the pure, raw hormones that ensured his kegs were always juicing.

“Dude…” Chet chuckled. “It’s not gay if you’re thinkin’ of all the chicks that will be beggin’ to ride this thing.”

After a hefty amount of thought, Rodney realized Chet was right. He wasn’t thinking about dudes or bros or nothing. None of the homo crap was even in his mind. In fact, the very idea of being a faggot disgusted him. All Rodney could think about was chicks. Tits and pussies and breeding them one by one with his vaccination shots. Except these shots weren't protecting these babies from anything. Rather, he was contaminating them. And that made Rodney feel good. Absolutely frat-tastically good.

“Ahhhh….brooooo…!” Rodney moaned. “I think I’m gonna blow!”

“Then do it, dude!” Chet replied.

“NO HOMO BROOOO!!!” The frat boys shouted in unison, their gigantic splooges pouring out into their bro’s hand. After the ecstasy had released, they both removed themselves from the other’s shorts and returned the babymatter to their owners, wiping each other’s work on the other’s tank top.

“God dude,” Chet replied. “Nothin’ beats THAT part of the Bro-Job.”

The newly-minted frat boy could only guffaw. His dreams, aspirations, and uniquities were completely gone, let alone his intelligence deteriorated down to the bare minimum. He was now only gifted with the simple desires of a sexually-overdrived culturally-accepted delinquent.

“I never got your name by the way,” Chet laughed. “I’m gonna need it for the prez so he can register you for the frat.”

“Hot Rod,” Rodney replied, the nickname coming out as if it was a programmed response.

Chet gave Hot Rod a brotherly swat before lifting him up off the couch. “'Hot Rod', huh? I think that will suit the other bros well once you finish the last part of the job.”

“There’s more, dude?” Hot Rod asked, following the other frat boy out to the front yard. “We both know I’m perfect for the frat life!”

“Well of course!” Chet then grabbed a computer and handed it over to Hot Rod. After looking for a little too long, Hot Rod eventually realized it was an online job board.

“I gotta get a job, bro?” Hot Rod asked, somehow making the dull timbre of his tone sound even dumber.

“No, dude!” Chet rolled his eyes. “The last part of the Bro-Job is recruiting the next member.”

Hot Rod’s empty expression signaled his lack of understanding.

“I just completed the Bro-Job,” Chet explained. “Now it’s your turn.”

Again, after a little too long of a pause, the pieces finally managed to place themselves together in Hot Rod’s head. With a thick guffaw, he made the job opening available once more before closing the laptop. He then placed the device behind him and took a seat at the end of the driveway, twisting his cap and assuming a cocky pose.

“What are you doing, bro?” Chet laughed.

“Sittin’ pretty, brah,” Hot Rod shot back. “Wanna make it easier for the next fag that rolls around.”

Totally Normal

--- Originally posted on 2023-12-08 by dumb-and-jocked. ---

“Welcome back to Totally Normal, the online show where we narrow down the one thing that makes us all meet that standard!”

The host then hit a button on his laptop, releasing an audio for an uproarious round of applause. With his entire audience streaming in live, he had to make due with tracks. He didn’t mind it though; he could always predict what his viewers were thinking. It was like they shared the same mind.

“My name’s DJ, and before you ask, yes I have a side gig in music.” A laugh track obnoxiously inserted itself. “I don’t dabble in the typical jazz; I remix these men back to the tunes they oughta be singing.”

Another fake round of applause. The host smirked before continuing forward with the rules.

“The point of the game is simple: Figure out that one thing that makes someone totally normal. Through a series of questions, I’m going to chisel away at our contestants until we get to the base. For every wrong answer, a vibration will be sent out to their device until they head back on the right track. We want to find out that one thing that solidifies them as an average joe, but we don't exactly know what that thing is."

The host then took a scripted pause. "Well, *I *know what that thing is.”

Another laugh track entered before the host silenced his imaginary audience. “So, let’s get down to it. We have our men here, but ARE THEY NORMAL?”

The last three words were all enunciated with the typical gameshow pazazz. The host even had an accompanying audio that made it seem like there was an audience chanting it with him.

On cue, the livestream booted up a panel of the three contestants. The first was a shy young man, who by his age looked to be in college but by his height possibly younger. The second was the typical corporate homosexual, the breed who was already happily married and wore tight, designer clothing. And last but not least, the third looked just a little older than the first with an office that displayed the inner workings of a minor start-up.

“Help me welcome our first contestant, coming from the cool waves of Cali, here comes Cody!”

Corey opened his mouth to kindly correct the host, but was immediately silenced by the massive track of applause. A small and nervous 20-year-old, Corey was an academically-fine student at a state school. He worked as an IT intern, helping others work through their issues in a manner where he didn’t have to fully engage. Yet he knew he would probably have to work through this introvert problem if he ever truly wanted to make a loyal boyfriend from the crop of surfers across the street.

“Up next is our cowboy-tootin’, bullet-firin’ family man, Norman!”

Nolan made a face of disgust, but he too didn’t stand a chance against the fake cheers. He’d settled down with his husband just about 10 years ago in the suburbs. Working for a Fortune 500 company, he had everything a man of his caliber could want. Great company, great style, great pets instead of real children. Nolan loved his little metropolitan life.

“And finally, the privileged heir to the corporate throne, it’s Asher!”

Aaron rolled his eyes as the artificial eruption burst through his speakers. He assumed that this narcissistic jock host had gotten all of the contestants names wrong. Aaron had built his own business up from the ground, an independent hard-worker with no one tying him down. It wasn’t that Aaron didn’t want a boyfriend, he just needed to focus on himself. That’s why he was keeping it casual, hooking up with boys a little younger and less responsible. He absentmindedly pawed at his crotch a little as the douchebag DJ started the game.

“Now,” the host cracked his knuckles dramatically. “Let’s start off with some easy questions, just to make sure those devices are working after all. Cody, you’re looking comfortable out on that beach!”

Corey looked around the library he was sitting in confusedly, neither comfortable nor on a beach.

“I think you’re mistaking me for the surfers across the street,” Corey tried to joke, but his feeble demeanor spoiled the comeback.

“Men…you all ought to be where all the other guys of your kind are at.”

All three of them put on bewildered faces.

“Cody, what’s holding you back from embracing that Cali life?” the host asked.

“I…I mean there’s the obvious fact that they aren’t keen on ga-”

BZZT

“Ah!” Corey ripped his hand away, the "vibration" more of a literal sting.

“Cody, what’s holding you back?” the host asked again.

“Dude,” Corey uncharacteristically responded. “I don’t know if they will accept me, man.”

“Bro, what’s there NOT to accept?” the host chuckled. “You fit right in!”

Corey looked over his short frame, his pale skin, his shrimpy figure. He appeared better fit for the library than the bea-

BZZT

“You’re right DJ! I'm a gnarly guy like them brahs! They’ll totally accept me!”

Corey looked over his tall frame, his tanned skin, his toned figure. He appeared better fit for the beach than the library–that’s why he was on the beach after all!

“Alright alright,” the host nodded with approval. “Now Norman, let’s talk about your life in the countryside.”

‪‘Country side’?” Nolan interjected. “Do you consider Houston-”

BZZT

Nolan flung his hand back, “HOWARDWICK the countryside? You bet! Population 402, the two being me and my husband.”

“And what massive land you got behind you, I’m assuming you and your male fling built that together.”

“My what?” Nolan peered behind him, noticing his garden he’d built with his hus-

BZZT

-the ranch he’d built with his hustle. Well, not technically–this land had been managed through the traditional good ole ways of his parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents. He’d just been fixing it up here and there.

Nolan stretched his thickening fingers, hoping to desensitize them from the pain. “W…What in tarnation is goin' on ‘ere?”

The host continued on, mocking the Southern accent he’d implanted onto the second contestant. “A place fittin' for a cowpoke like y’all’s self! Ain’t no city folk allowed; you don’t want nothin’ queer intrudin' your property, right?”

Queer?!” Nolan spat back. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’-“

BZZT

“Darn tootin’ straight! Ain’t nothin’ strange gonna be happenin’ on this ‘ere land.”

With the second contestant’s location rightfully reoriented, the host moved onto the third.

“And onto our Ivy League, let’s discuss ascension…I mean, ‘climbing the corporate ladder’.”

Aaron shot the host a dirty look through the screen. “You don’t think I worked hard to earn this position?”

“Well, you certainly didn’t do it all yourself.”

Aaron held his breath. He was a decently attractive man with his slim figure and responsible will, and even his anger made him appear wiser than his years. But Aaron's best feature was his independence, and he wasn’t going to let anyone taint his name over that.

“What, do you think my current boyfri-”

BZZT

“-my dating his-”

BZZT

“-my friends with benefits were involved?”

Aaron’s fingers tingled with energy. His body tingled with fury.

“Well,” the host snickered. “If by benefits, you mean…”

“What’s all this!” Aaron flipped. “This is simply…p…preposterous!”

“What are you talking about?” the host egged on. “It's simply normal for a man with your caliber to have such an ‘inheritance’.”

The other two contestants watched on with intrigue.

“I…I may have a b…benefactor,” Aaron suddenly revealed, as if something had just been placed upon his chest. But he was still independent, right? “But that has nothing to do with it!”

“Benefactor? Do you mean your DADDY?”

The fake audience suddenly burst into a chorus of shocked “Ooooohhhh”s. Aaron’s usual calm nature was flatlining, being replaced by a more quickly-agitated behavior.

“We may be really closely acquainted!” Aaron backpedaled. “But it’s nothing of that kind of sort!”

The other two contestants smirked as the growingly-pompous bastard was taken down a peg.

“Sounds pretty queer to me, man,” Corey interjected confidently, scratching at his defining abs.

“Yeah, Ah reckon that fellas a little less normal than us folks,” Nolan added, adjusting the large hat that had secured itself upon his head.

“SHUT UP SWINE!” Aaron spat, his face gaining back a little of his baby fat as he absorbed more child-like aggression. “I'm perfectly normal!”

The two men laughed alongside an obnoxious laughter track.

“He’s right folks, we men are on the right side of history.” The host knew he needed to move on, the show only had so much time of course, but he was having fun. “Surely that father-figure is just some kind of…relative?”

“Just a relative, brah?” Corey asked as his trim cut bloomed out into luscious blond waves.

“Seems closer than that, partner.” Nolan quipped as a graying stubble crawled upon his widening jaw.

“A….A relative?” Aaron stammered, a higher youthful pitch lightening his tenor as this benefactor became clearer in his head. “He’s…he’s someone who I f-“

BZZT

“Father! He’s my father: Asher Osvald the Third!” Aaron screamed, his blond locks gelling up into a refined style that didn’t match his own personality. “And you all better remember it when you see our company in the headlines!”

Both Corey and Nolan took their respectful back-offs, but the host could only smirk with pride. After a moment of self-congratulation, he noticed some slight hesitation from the first candidate.

“Dude…” Corey started. “Can’t you just see he’s messin’ with us, man? Don’t you guys feel kinda strange-“

“Aren’t you supposed to chill, dude?” The host immediately cut him off.

Corey’s mouth went flat, his chin taking the opportunity to curve out a little further. “How can I chill with-“

BZZT

“Without the support from my brosettes across the screen, duuuuude!”

The host watched on with glee as the female portion of the livestream burst into a flurry. Lots of hearts and kisses and even some eggplant emojis were flooding the chat. And the comments were getting suggestive too. One chick wanted to know why he was wearing a dorky button-up, and she was soon exposed to his lean bod and treasure trail. Another suggested he should flex for the camera, and Corey was happy to oblige, each of his muscles pumping larger as he did so.

“Now, Cody,” the host coyly asked. “I’m sure the fans would like to know what you do for work.”

“I uh…I work with coding.”

“You are studying IT?” the host replied, incredulous. “Sounds complicated man.”

Corey beamed at the compliment, an excited fever entering his voice. “Yeah, but I sort of have a gift for-“

BZZT

“IT...like as in ‘it’ man...not ‘eye-tee’ or whatever.”

“But it has something to do with a code, right?”

“Well…yeah man…” Corey’s lifeless vocal fry responded. “But it's not that nerdy crap…something more…uhhh…”

The host graciously provided the answer, “Manly?”

“Yeah man….’it’ is the uh…bro-code brah.” Corey fiddled with the cross necklace that had materialized around his neck, trying to structure his thoughts. Corey felt like his head was spinning in a light vertigo, but not out of stress. Rather, a pleasurable confusion. Cali dudes don’t think that much right? They just go with the flow, so why shouldn’t he man? Wasn’t that what was normal?

While Corey processed his internal dilemma, the host reconnected with the second contestant, noticing he too was becoming a little self-aware.

“Hey Norman, you’re really rocking that fit.”

Nolan was honestly surprised at the comment. He knew he looked good in his tight, patterned three-piece, but he didn’t think the ultra-straight host would notice that too.

“Those shoes must be great for the ranch.”

Nolan laughed. “These ole’ things? They’re Prada from last season-“

BZZT

“Uhh…Ah mean these boots are from that one brand-”

BZZT

“Ah’ve had these kickers for years, fella!”

The host observed quietly as the rest of the second contestant’s clothes altered. The suit jacket and vest disappeared completely. The pants grew out into a straight pair of jeans that had been worn continuously for many seasons. The shirt rolled it sleeves and loosened some buttons, darkening to a dusty black that was meant for hauling hay rather than implying gay. But as the outfit masculinized, there was one item that stubbornly fought back, unlike the man who wore it.

“And that belt, how long have you had that?”

Nolan evaluated the expensive snake leather. “Oh yeah, this ‘ere was a gift-“

BZZT

“What in TARNATION was that for?!” Nolan yelled, the vibration noticeably more painful than the previous blasts. The material of his belt quickly grew cheaper, a massive longhorn buckle blooming forth above his blooming pouch.

“S…Sorry y’all,” Nolan collected himself. “Ah don’t know what’s gotten ovah me, or why Ah’m speakin’ so-“

“Enough apologies,” the host gagged. “You are a man, are you not?”

“Yessiree, but that doesn’t mean we men ain’t got to be sens-”

BZZT

“Ah reckon yer right there, partner!” Nolan puffed out his chest, carrying his emerging muscle gut with him. “We men oughta be tough! The MAN of the household.”

The host snickered, his eyes meandering around the second contestant’s body as additional muscle and bulk was piled onto his frame. “And men like you ought to have a body like that, don’t they?”

The cowboy huffed, his torso heavy with Southern pride. Nolan had worked his muscular frame up over all these long years, from sunrise to sundown. At 6’4, his big hearty body was always devouring meat to stretch out everything from his big strong biceps to his huge Size 15 clompers!

With the first and second contestants almost there, it was time for the host to catch his third man up to speed. He had already advanced mighty far, his skin having cleared up a bit and a few arrogant gold trophies having appeared in the office background, but the host had some additional notches yet to secure before the final round.

“Now Asher, let’s get real here.” The host put on his classic douchebag smile for the audience. “Any ladies tickling that fancy lately?”

“What?” Aaron scoffed. “Are you dense? I'm into g-”

BZZT

“Girls…no…wait what?” Aaron felt strange. Why did the host ask if he liked…girls? And why was the thought of girls suddenly something he…liked?

“Listen ere’, partner,” Nolan suddenly interjected. “Yer talkin’ 'bout women like they’re nothin’!”

The host, displeased, fought back. “Aren’t you married to one, partner?”

Nolan couldn’t believe the disrespect. “Me? Married to a woman? Yeah right-”

BZZT

“-Ah am! Ah’ve been married to my lovely wife for darn straight twenty years! Ain’t nothing QUEER happenin' on this ‘ere normal ranch. I got youngins to raise after all!”

As Nolan became bombarded by memories of his new flock of children, the satisfied host switched back to his third contestant.

“Look, I think we should respect women.” Aaron tried his best to sound mature, now finding it extremely difficult to maintain. “In fact, I think we should respect all others appropriately-“

BZZT

“And by appropriately, I am referring to overlooking these swines of colleagues who cannot afford a top notch education adjacent to my own.”

The host queued up a laugh track for his next one-liner. “They weren’t kidding when they said someone with your prestige had everything handed down to you, including bad manners.”

Aaron felt his anger rising once again, it easily filling his shortening body as he squared out to an average 5’9.

“Well excuseeee me! I am my own person with-“

BZZT

“My father is a reputable man who would wish to-”

BZZT

“DADDY!”

Aaron stomped his foot, bewildered at this idiocracy. Why was he continuously interrupted? Why was he not given the required recognition? He was captain of the country club’s golf team, rowing team, youth league, and the youngest member on the executive board for Christ’s sake! He studied at an Ivy League! He was everything!

As Aaron tried to understand why none of these other men appreciated the absolute honors of his merit–which he refused to ever admit weren’t even his own–a small alarm went off from the host’s computer.

“Like what was that, mannnn?” Corey’s face furrowed into an all-too-natural look of dumbfoundment.

“Yeah,” Nolan reared. “What's y'all gonna do next?”

“I demand to know it this instant!” The host was surprised at the third contestant jumping in, but he assumed it was just his way of trying to maintain his (nonexisting) position on top. “Or else I’ll tell my father about this-!”

An insane uproar of artificial laughter echoed throughout their ears, startling and silencing them.

“Alright folks, you know what that sound means!” the host grinned. “It’s almost time to wrap up our show, and because our contestants still haven’t figured out what makes them 'Totally Normal', we’re going to have to speed things up!”

“But can’t there only be one winner?” Aaron whined.

“Technically, no,” the host responded honestly. “All of you can be winners if you find out what makes you totally normal.”

For the first time since the game had started, all three of the contestants fell silent.

“I mean, let’s look at our surfer stud Cody,” the host started. “You are almost there, but you gotta loosen that one thing that’s still pent-up, man.”

“Brah…” Corey complained. “What else is there?”

As if by some subconscious command from the host, Corey began dumbly palming himself, a light drool dripping from the edge of his lips. The constant cycle of tits and feminine bits in his mind bombarding all over thoughts.

“A totally gnarly surfer focuses on working out, banging chicks, and chillin’ dude.”

Corey guffawed with a stupid relaxed expression, casually groping as the host moved on.

“And Norman, you’ve worked hard for your position in life, haven’t you?”

The Texan father nodded in cold agreement.

“So what would pride a totally traditional cowboy more than his ranch, his woman, and his legacy?”

Nolan groaned as he instantly unbuckled the massive lock hiding his mighty steed. Huffing loudly, the Southern Baptist’s lil’ pony was wrangled into a full-fledged stallion, the kind that was built to produce offspring. And the kind that got worked up over anything that could threaten the generational uniformity his family, religion, and nation he swore to protect.

“And you, Asher,” the host swiped over to the final contestant. “What’s stopping you from becoming the total Harvard bastard?”

Asher’s face went red and his cock went hard.

“I’m talking complete corruption, pure privilege, Daddy’s little-”

The host was suddenly cut off by a loud holler, the exclaim like the crashing waves of the ocean. Immediately, the comment section blew up as the host, players, and audience watched the surfer jock release a blast of his sea salt spray.

But before the host could congratulate the first winner, the southern father turned around the corner. With one hand whipping his meat and the other held tightly onto his hat, it was only mere moments until the inevitable:

“YEEHAW!”

Once again, the audience burst into merriment over the propagating blast. It was then that Aaron’s anger truly took the best of him. He couldn’t be beaten by two no-names! He was the top of his class, an heir to a Fortune 500 company, and a totally normal man for Christ’s sake! Gripping his pecker and shining it furiously, Aaron accepted his heterosexual rage and vowed that he would win and please his…please his…!

“F…FAAAAATHERR!”

A loud, pretentious yell echoed out of the Harvard student, an endless splurge of funds dumping out of his mighty account. It was just one of the many things his heritage’s estate had granted him.

The host didn’t try to hide his devious sneer as the viewers erupted once more. He’d loved his job because everyone won every time. And now, seeing all the new stereotypical straights he’d created, the host couldn’t help but feel his own massive sausage chub. But he laughed the feeling off, knowing beating off over these other men wouldn’t have been “totally normal.”

“And it looks like with just a minute left on the clock, all three of our contestants will be going home as winners today!” The host then added his artificial rounds of applause. “So, did you three ever figure out what makes you ‘Totally Normal’?”

“Isn’t it obvious, brah?” Cody replied, the typical airhead more sure of himself now than when he had dropped out of high school. “It’s that we’re straight, mannnn…”

“He’s right, partner!” Norman added, his fatherly conviction always strong and steady. “Ain’t none of us are them faggots. If Ah do say so myself, we are all what the mighty Lord named men.”

“Well, if that is what common plebians such as yourself are called, then you shall address me as ‘I-V’,” Asher Osvald IV’s voice was doused in entitlement and a lack of understanding for anyone but himself. A pair of offscreen hands adjusted his tie just to prove his privilege. “After all, I do attend Harvard. I guess you could say I was destined for greatness since birth.”

“Yes, Asher, everyone here knows you are a prick.” The host immediately followed up his quip with a laugh track. “But that’s all we have for today’s show. Signing off, this is Host DJ!”

“Hang ten and surfs up, dudes!”

“The biggest rodeo’s the family and kids y’all!”

“I’m probably way richer than you vagrants, so don’t bother.”

“And don’t forget to ask yourself,” the host winked before adding in the final audio. “ARE YOU NORMAL?”

Red Wave

--- Originally posted on 2023-01-05 by dumb-and-jocked ---

Ethan rushed home as fast as he could, excited to finally be able to play the most popular video game on the market. At $25, Red Wave certainly wasn’t one of the most expensive games out there, but it had still been out of Ethan’s price range when it had dropped a few weeks ago. Since then, the game had blown up all over the internet and had even been promoted in the news. Well, Fox News (they had thought the title “Red Wave” was associated with the prophesied Republican rebound), but still news nonetheless. 

People were obsessed with it, and it was pretty obvious why. Although Ethan hadn’t actually played the game yet, he already knew how it worked. Red Wave was an alternative survival game, one of those campaign-style strategies where the player tries to live as long as possible under growing amounts of enemies. It was paintball, blue versus red. As the game progressed, the player was able to buy upgrades and unlock new parts of the map, but every round a new “red wave” would descend upon them. 

What made the game unique however was that if the player was hit by a red paintball, they could not earn health back. They would be stuck with that health throughout the rest of the game until it was slowly lowered down to 0. Not only that, but Red Wave could only be played once through. Somehow, the company behind the game had been able to put an uninstaller agent deeply rooted inside the game. This meant that once the player died, the game deleted itself permanently from the console’s system and became completely inaccessible. Since Red Wave had launched, nobody had been able to figure out how to reinstall the game back on its original console.

Unlocking his apartment’s front door, Ethan quickly shut it behind him and kicked off his loafers. He then loosened his tie and threw his argyle socks towards the hamper. Usually, Ethan would have been a less careless when he got home, but the 5'7 gaymer was way too excited to dive into Red Wave. Within moments, he had his console booting up and then the game purchased and downloaded. 

While he waited, Ethan strolled to the mirror underneath his pride flag to unbutton his shirt a little, noting that it was a bit tight near the bottom. It seemed like the fast-food lunches he’d recently been treating himself to were taking a toll, the small paunch alerting him that he didn’t have an athlete’s metabolism. Not only that, but the fat gathering up around his cheeks was certainly not to be blamed on by his youth. The curly, black locks paired with the chubby face did make him look boyish however.

“Maybe I should start dieting…” Ethan mumbled as he heard a ding from across the room. Instantly, he rushed over to his chair and grabbed the controller. Red Wave was displayed broadly on the monitor. Flashes of red blotched themselves on the screen, and without hesitating Ethan pressed play. He was then presented with the initial agreement and warning, stating that the player would only be able to engage in the game once and when started would not be able to stop. Besides money, that was also why Ethan had waited so long to play the game–he wanted to see how long he could make it without stopping. With the whole weekend ahead of him, he was sure he’d get himself an impressive, braggable score.

The game was pretty simple at first. Ethan was equipped with a basic paintball gun, and his blue paintballs would knock out the red opponents before they even had a chance to fight back. Ethan was a pretty invested gaymer, but video games were always second to the real world for him. As a founding member of his university’s branch of the Gender-Sexuality Alliance and the president of the Business Casual Club along with the work of his graduate studies, Ethan was almost always focused on reality. However, when he did have time to escape to a virtual world, Ethan would always be found with a controller between his gentle hands. And he had become good at shooter games because of it.

A couple of hours had passed by and Ethan had already unlocked a third of the map, upgraded his paintball gun to fire more rounds at once, and had unlocked a variety of paint bombs. Currently, he was saving up for a bowling ball explosive–a giant blue paintball that would roll down the enemy team and explode after a few seconds. Ethan did notice that each new wave was getting a little more difficult though. The enemies were always a little bit faster, a little bit more competent, and had recently begun spawning themselves in numbers that Ethan couldn’t take out all at once. He wasn’t alarmed however; he still had too many things to unlock and plenty of time left.

When he got hit by a red paintball the first time, Ethan was literally shocked. As in physically shocked. His controller sent out a tiny pulse that sparked across Ethan’s bloodstream, causing him to twitch as the red paint stained itself on his blue player. It was harsh, but Ethan owed it to Red Wave having impressive haptics. In the top left corner of his screen, he watched as his blue health bar lowered just barely. It tainted itself a little too, becoming a darker hue. The concentrated smile that Ethan had been wearing faltered slightly, but in moments he had regained himself and the round was over. He quickly reloaded his gun and moved around the map to purchase some more items.

While Ethan prepared for the next round, he didn’t notice that his body had stretched along his gaming chair. Once at an average height, his torso and legs had elongated after the initial shock that had emitted from his controller. Inch by inch, his bones lengthened and brought flesh and tissue along with it. By the time the round had finished, Ethan would now stand at a well-reaching 6’1. But due to him sitting down, Ethan didn’t register that his head was now almost completely above his gaming chair, or that he was now leaning back slightly in order to give his legs more room.

Ethan continued on, racking up additional points as he became more invested in the game. As time ticked by, Ethan gained stronger power-ups. By four hours in, he was able to run faster across the map, now granting himself access to half of the rooms available. Just a little while later, his paintball gun was upgraded to having two barrels, allowing him to shoot more than one blue-splattering bullet at a time. He gained access to more explosives and traps, and was soon covering the map in different devices to explode any red enemies before they even reached him.

A second shock emitted from his controller after he was hit by a sniper, a new character that had emerged only a few waves earlier. Grunting, Ethan instantly shot back and killed the enemy, yet the damage had already been done. His health bar depleted a little further, shifting into something akin to indigo. Ethan however continued playing, defending himself well against the waves of red that descended upon him. As he did, his legs slowly firmed up underneath his pressed khakis. They grew thinner and more muscular at the same time, gaining strength as they became sharpened from years of running rather than sitting. Ethan’s quads too gained bulk, solidifying as a soft coat of hair descended upon his thighs and calves.

Ethan released a small sigh as he defeated the last enemy, the blue-stained character melting downwards and dissolving into the ground. He quickly did what he had done countless times before: purchased a few traps, stored some more explosives, and browsed across the upgrades he should be saving up for. As soon as he was finished, the round number flashed on the screen and he was back in the game.

The next shock came a little bit quicker than Ethan had thought it would, and a little harder too. It had only been a few rounds since the last hit, but this time he had been caught by a sentry. The robotic cannon had landed its target on Ethan’s blue character before he had had time to react, blasting a red laser right through the player. It took a little bit more health off of him then the other hits had. Ethan blamed this on the game’s length however. The longer the game went on, then probably the harder each “red wave” would hit. The bar in the top left shifted accordingly while also brightening up a tad.

Ethan pushed forward through the round. In his chair, his straight back slowly bubbled along the surface as it filled in with muscle. His shoulders broadened outwards, but as the changes descended lower, his proportions shrunk inwards. Ethan’s growing moobs hardened and pulled back into sturdy pectorals. The expanded stomach he noted earlier imploded into itself, leaving behind defined abs. It suctioned all the way back to the iliac crest to allow for a defined Adonis belt to emerge at the bottom of Ethan’s chest. A dusting of hair also accumulated around his belly button and slowly tread its way downwards.

Ethan made it through another hour before being greeted by a fourth shock from a grenade. Luckily, he hadn’t been hit full-on, but his health did alter into a classic purple. He ran his character away from the scene to protect himself. Ethan then decided to carefully stroll through hallways to eliminate the remaining enemies in smaller groups rather than the wave all at once. Unbeknownst to him, his arms began bulking up underneath his sleeves. Although they were rather average before, they now became a little larger and toned. Nothing too dramatic, but still defined enough to garner a reaction from any stranger when displayed. His forearms also slimmed enough to display veins while a generous helping of fur coated both tops and fluffed out his armpits. Finally, his tender hands became beefy mitts as his fingers grew thick and his palms became calloused.

The next shock came rather quickly, angering Ethan slightly as he noticed he’d missed a simple guard that had spawned near a door. It took him a little longer than he thought it would to take care of the matter, but he did destroy both the guard and the rest of the wave. His health bar had now lightened into a more magenta-like shade. He further upgraded his gun and placed a few more traps, including one specifically in front of the door he’d just been caught at. He’d opened up almost all of the map and had already gotten the majority of the weapons enhancements. Now he just had to save up and survive.

Ethan may have finished the round containing the loathed guard, but not without its consequences. The spark of electricity had coursed its way up its neck, pushing the flesh outwards to make room for expanding vocal chords. His Adam’s apple became more pronounced, dropping his voice a few octaves and erasing any vocal notes of intelligence and character. His jaw was next, the chubbier cheeks sinking in as his bones cracked and restructured into a squarer, more masculine lantern cut. His nose made a gruesome crunch as it popped out and adorned a new previously-broken shape. The ears grew and studded themselves, the brow ridge jutted out a little further, and the forehead became more prominent to give Ethan a macho, yet devolved look. His hair was the last touch, straightening out and diminishing into a regular dark brown as it was pulled back and fluffed outwards at the end, as if it had been trained to permanently cushion a backwards cap.

With less than 10 upgrades yet to purchase and one room yet to unlock, Ethan cursed when he was hit by a barrage of mini shocks from a machine gun. Each shot didn’t take off too much health, but put together they brought the bar in the top left corner into a definite, murkier pink zone. It took Ethan a while to rebound back, but after a grueling back and forth, he eventually eliminated both the gunner and a good portion of the rest of the wave. He retreated back into emptier parts of the map to reuse the same strategy he had successfully conceived earlier: taking down small groups at a time.

Ethan carefully perused each room and hallway, his blue paintballs coating the red enemies before they had even spotted him. While pushing on, his attire and room shifted accordingly. The buttons on his shirt popped off one by one as the fabric was pulled together into something less starchy. The dyes darkened to black and a hood bloomed out of the collar, changing the button-up into a simpler hoodie. His khaki’s were hit next, softening and becoming cuffed at the bottom as they too blackened into ordinary sweats. Underneath, his briefs expanded into faded, well-used checkered boxers, and upon his head arrived the black baseball cap his hair had been anxiously waiting for. 

The changes around Ethan’s room also faced various levels of simplification. His attire became copies of what he was wearing, and the articles themselves were now tossed on the floor and dirty rather than hung in the closet and clean. Dirty dishes piled in the sink, a layer of dust and grime laid itself carefully around the apartment, and a bulk supply of pregnancy tests appeared underneath the desk. Behind Ethan, the pride flag above his mirror shifted too. The rainbow stripes faded into a deep navy as bolded, white letters displayed themselves upon the fabric to proclaim a different form of pride.

It had taken Ethan awhile, but he eventually purchased the last of the upgrades for his paintball gun. All he had left was the final room to completely unlock the map. It was extremely expensive, but he assumed it was for a good reason. He didn’t know what happened when he would open that last room (Did it complete the game, or would he have to keep going until he died?), but he assumed it had to be glorious. Ethan would have to play it extra safe however, because before he realized it another sniper had once again hit him and brought his health to a strawberry hue.

Propping his feet up on the desk holding his monitor, Ethan leaned further back into his chair as he dedicated his entire focus to Red Wave. Because of this, he didn’t see his feet slowly bloating upwards and outward even though they were right in front of him. Each tiny, miniscule bone cracked and stretched as his toes plumped out and grew like tiny stalks upwards. His soles plumped as tiny hairs raced across the tops of the growing landscapes. As a cherry on top, a soft, yet potent smell began to emerge from the new wide and heavy Size 13 feet. Yet their larger, cushiony nature was yet to be observed by Ethan who was completely concentrated on unlocking that last room.

After some careful, patient grinding, Ethan had finally earned enough money to expand into the final part of the map. He didn’t know what would come next, or how long he would continue fighting on, but he was ready. He had completely lost track of time, and by now the round numbers were just a blur when they passed by. It had become too bothersome to interpret the Roman numerals, so Ethan had just started to ignore them. Licking his lips anxiously, he finished the current round and instantly ran his character over to the final room. Ethan was feeling less excited and more determined at this point to open the room, the game having transformed into a mission. But he was still excited nonetheless. In seconds, Ethan had the room unlocked and opened the door.

Immediately, the entire monitor flashed red as a nuke went off in his character’s face. The last room had been a trap; it was impossible for any player to continue on at that point. Seconds later, the remaining portion of Ethan’s health bar disappeared, replacing itself with the same red that the enemy team wore. Ethan didn’t mind however. In fact, he didn’t even comprehend what had happened. That final hit had sent another shock like the ones he’d felt before, but this time it had paralyzed him completely. It was almost like Ethan had been paused in time.

At least, mentally paused in time. The shock still brought along its physical effects, this time to Ethan’s pouch. His modest 4 inch softie instantly hardened to its full erect glory, but in moments it was throbbing. It pulsed as if someone was blowing up a balloon, each throb pumping it a little larger until it was an enhanced 8.5 inches. Ethan’s balls experienced a similar inflation, descending with weight as they covered themselves in a wiry forest of pubes. Across the perineum, his butthole shrunk and tightened while his glutes became larger and solidified, no longer serving the purpose they once dutifully fulfilled for previous boyfriends and in nightclub restrooms.

With his character dead, Red Wave finished out what it was intended to do. Just like what had been discussed all over media, the game began to uninstall itself from Ethan’s console and delete any history of its existence. However, unlike what had been discussed all over media (except ironically by Fox News, who for once spoke the truth), Red Wave began to uninstall and delete any history of Ethan’s existence. The game’s true purpose was to enact the long predicted Republican return: transforming every player by the end of the game into a fully-devoted, heterosexual, God-and-gay-fearing conservative. Players were expected to die about midway through the game, but the final room was placed as a fail-safe to ensnare every last participant.

So, as Red Wave destroyed itself and any evidence of its presence, it also deteriorated Ethan’s existence. His personality was dragged down into his churning balls, along with his organized nature, preppy values, and crafty intelligence. His kind, bright attitude was ripped away, leaving room for a more cocky, aggressive being. His views and morals were simplified and tied back to tradition, no longer swayed by the repulsive, modern “progress” of today. Ethan’s homosexuality too was torn away, each piece of his gay identity plucked in order to reveal a shallower, more malevolent shell. Ethan felt each shift go through him like a shock. One moment, he was bisexual, the next a straight ally. But eventually he embraced his final form–a homophobic breeder.

The entire uninstalling process itself seemed like it had taken hours, but it was truly only a few minutes. As Red Wave approached its final seconds on Ethan’s console, his dick began to tremble like a great volcano. Inside his boxers, his two drooping testicles were churning the remains of Ethan, deleting his entirety as it was being prepared for its own uninstallation. Still under the magnetic pause of the game, Ethan’s dull eyes watched as Red Wave’s uninstallation completed, sending forth one final shock. The spark raced across Ethan’s system and instantly triggered his hefty cock to eject the massive load, removing any remnants of his former life and blasting them all across his already-stained boxer shorts.

“Huh wha…” Eric awoke from his sudden stupor. “Ahhh dude...!”

The vocal fry was apparent as Eric took one of his hands off the controller and investigated his sweats, which now had a wet, growing splotch emerging from his pouch. He hated wasting a load when it totally could’ve gone in some chick. In Eric’s eyes, nutting alone was basically a crime against his babymaker.

Although his crotch was sticky and would later become stained, Eric didn’t do anything about it. He wasn’t some faggy liberal after all–he was a real man who did real manly things. If he had a massive dick and was constantly pumping stomachs, then he had a right to show that off. He wasn’t gonna let some blue-lovin’, cock-suckin’, atheist freak take away his rights! 

And Eric knew he would always win in the battle of red versus blue. Faggots were always lining up to do anything for their superiors. They’d pay him tons of cash for a used sock. Clean the apartment thoroughly before some bimbo came over to be filled that night just to get the privilege of massaging his massive feet for a half an hour. Plus, Eric had now realized that if he led them on enough, they’d go to the polls and vote red, even if the candidate was campaigning to remove gay rights. Despite having just blown a load seconds earlier, his girthy dick was responding to the thought of knowing how many fags were waiting to serve him.

“Gotta find some slut to dump this all into,” Eric huffed as he adjusted his package. The thought of bouncing tits and wet pussy only riled him further, but with the console already booted up he decided to play a few rounds of some shooter game first. Before he did however, he noticed his juicy feet propped up in front of his monitor, uncared for and needing attention. With his sticky hand, he snatched his phone and texted one of his go-to fairies. Instantly, the boy replied back and said he was on his way to service him. Content, Eric tossed the phone onto his unmade bed and opened up a game while he waited for the fag. The Red Wave was coming, whether the libs wanted to admit it or not. 

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.

Branded

---

Originally posted on 2020-05-27 by dumb-and-jocked

Unfortunately dumb-and-jocked's account has been deactivated.

If the original author ever reads this: thank you for all your works!

---

Zane wasn’t particularly excited about going out to his uncle’s ranch. The two had never really known how to connect, with one being from the East Coast and the other in rural Wyoming. Zane had grown up privileged in the urban lifestyle, with many stores, jobs, and more progressive influences around every corner. His parents were also a little richer than most, so he was able to enjoy a luxurious apartment all to himself while he attended Yale. Well... not all to himself. His boyfriend Kaeden visited so often he was practically a second resident, but Zane didn’t mind--he loved the attention.

Zane practically adored his modern lifestyle, and made sure to show it by never leaving a five-mile radius. This caused his parents to worry, assuming if he didn’t start now he’d never know how to go out on his own. Trying to help (like all parents did), his father spoke with his brother and the two set up a little spring vacation for Zane. When Zane’s father had proposed the idea, Zane didn’t exactly jump in excitement. In fact, he didn’t seem excited at all.

“Really?” Zane asked coarsely. “Spring break is for beaches, coasts, actual fun!”

“Zane,” his father replied coolly. “I didn’t raise you to be a leech off of my own money. Go out to your uncle’s ranch and give him a hand; earn something for once. And anyway, Wyoming’s great this time of year--you might enjoy it!”

“Can I at least bring Kaeden with me?”

His father’s eyes went down for a moment. Zane always had a lurking feeling that his father wasn’t truly alright with his only son being gay, his Western Christian roots molding him that way, but his dad always acted like he was accepting. Proving Zane’s point, he swore he could’ve seen his dad’s ears perk up a second after the proposal was made.

“That’s a great idea!” his dad cheered, almost too enthusiastically. “Now someone can relish in the same pain you’ll be experiencing.” Zane rolled his eyes in response to the sarcasm before walking out to his car.

Reflecting back on that moment, his father did seem a little more eager than usual, but Zane didn’t care. It was too late now, as the old pickup truck was pulling into the driveway of the ranch. A huge arch loomed above them, displaying “WELCH” in iron letters across the top. Back when it used to be his grandparents’ ranch, Zane’s father loved this place. He used to thrive as a cowboy, but once he got a taste of the other side of the Mississippi, he left the lifestyle behind him. The rest of the family seemed alright with the transition, with Zane’s uncle being the older brother anyway, meaning he would be taking the ranch, so they decided to let him roam. His uncle had now been running the ranch for almost ten years, just him, his wife, and a small crew to help with the daily tasks.

“Alright, boys, enjoy the trip,” the man in the front grunted as he halted to a stop. Kaeden and Zane slowly jumped out of the truck, grabbing their bags as they looked at the massive farm. Zane swore it looked bigger than the last time he was here, but that was to be expected. The last time he was here was a decade ago for his grandparents’ funerals, so there was probably going to be change. While Kaedan gazed around in awe, Zane spotted what--or who--he was looking for. Leaning against one looming building was a tall man wearing a blue button-up and worn-out jeans. His large boots were placed firmly on the ground and a barn wall, while a beige hat rested proudly on top of his head. He looked like a more muscular, worn-out version of his father, his similar salt and pepper stubble pulling the whole look together.

“Zaney boy, is that yeu?” the man asked in astonishment, the southern accent as prominent as ever.

“Yeah, Uncle Treyton.”

Zane tried to sound enthusiastic, but he never felt like family with the redneck. Not only did the two have completely different perspectives, but they didn’t even look related. Zane didn’t share the same muscular body as the silver fox, but instead had a little too much meat on his bones. He also didn’t get the Welch height, with Zane’s lime-dyed hair barely even reaching his uncle’s neck.

“And this must be Kaeden Sargent, put it here!”

Zane’s uncle shoved a meaty hand in front of him and Kaeden quickly accepted. He was always more optimistic than Zane, putting his best foot forward into every situation. The tall, lanky man took the other’s hand and shook it vigorously, so much in fact that his ginger curls bounced in a rhythm. Fortunately, the baby fat surrounding his face allowed him to act a little childish.

“Firm, that’ll go a long ways here, son.”

“Thanks, sir.”

“Ah, y’all can call me Treyton.”

Kaeden and Zane exchanged looks at each other. For a Christian cowboy, he was awfully accepting of their relationship. Neither of them expected Zane’s uncle to be so understanding.

“Where’s Aunt Joelene at?” Zane inquired as they hauled their bags inside.

“Her and the lady folk already had a vacation planned, so she ain’t gonna be here this week. Just some good ‘ol male bonding!”

He led them to two guest rooms on opposite sides of a hallway, telling them to toss their individual bags into one or the other. Zane and Kaeden exchanged looks again, although this time it was for a different reason. They both knew they might be staying in different rooms, but not sleeping.

All of a sudden, the doorbell rang from the front of the house. After dropping their things, Zane and Kaedan followed Treyton back out to the front door. The trio wandered out to the foyer to see another cowboy smugly standing on the porch.

“Harry!” Treyton shouted as he swung the door open. “‘Bout time ya got here--the nephew’s in town.”

Harry looked over at Zane, inspecting him and then Kaeden with hawk eyes. His tight black shirt didn’t hide the impressive muscles from years on the farm. The same could be said for his faded jeans and massive belt buckle, both of which did nothing to camouflage his gargantuan pouch.

“Is yers that paddy?” he remarked with a deep voice, his accent as thick as Treyton’s. “Or the fag.”

“They’re both fags,” Treyton corrected. “The paddy’s his ‘boyfriend’.”

Kaeden patted Zane’s shoulder in a comforting way. Treyton’s language had just confirmed that they had signed themselves up for a long vacation.

“I don’t mean to be abandonin’ y’all so quickly, but the town’s rodeo’s goin’ on tonight and I’m a volunteerin’,” Zane’s uncle began. “Everythin’ there is free, so I expect to see y’all out there. It’ll be a great time!”

The two hicks strutted over to Harry’s old pickup truck, the engine roaring mighty proud as it came to life. Zane and Kaedan wondered how they hadn’t heard it coming down the driveway.

“Keys are on the counter!” Treyton hollered as they drove off. Kaeden smirked lowering his hand from Zane’s shoulder to his butt as they watched the other pair leave.

“Might as well taint your uncle’s house before we go to the rodeo.”

“You really want to go to that thing?” Zane whined, missing the hint.

“No, but we should,” Kaeden replied. “Until then, let me keep you entertained.” He then started kissing Zane’s neck passionately, dragging him down a hallway.

“Alright!” Zane giggled, following along. He loved his boyfriend.

— —

Kaeden and Zane hesitantly pulled into the parking lot, the dirt flying into the air as they parked the rusty pickup near the back. The whole event took place in some kind of stadium, but instead of a neatly trimmed field with shiny seats, there were wooden bleachers and a dirt floor. They weren’t particularly excited, going from hardcore sex to this dump, but as long as they were at each other’s sides they’d make it through. At least, that’s what Zane kept telling himself.

The two cautiously jumped out, wearing sweatpants and matching concert tees from an event they went to on their fifth date. Zane had thought that if they wore their most casual clothes, they’d blend into the crowd, but it turned out this was truly his first rodeo. Walking up to the front gate, they saw a rainbow of button-ups scattered among the stretched and stained tees. Hicks and cowboys galore excitedly hollered as they entered the rodeo grounds. The strange thing was, it seemed like people were gathering by color. Zane and Kaeden watched the red button-ups slowly separate from the yellow tees, who themselves avoided the purple plaid-clad group. Even with the odd formation, the pair stuck out like two weeds in a freshly-planted garden.

“Alright next!”

Zane and Kaeden had been so perplexed by the entire situation that they hadn’t noticed they had crossed the parking lot, gotten in line, and made it to the front.

“Zaney boy, ya made it!”

Zane’s uncle proudly stood behind a booth, waving as the boyfriends walked up. Harry was placed on the other side, his look much more calculating than Treyton’s inviting smile.

“Are y’all excited?” Uncle Treyton asked, his accent coming out stronger with each syllable.

“Totally,” Kaeden answered, assuming his other half wouldn’t.

“Let us just stamp y’all and yeu’ll be on in.”

“Wait, why are we the only one’s getting stamped?” Kaedan observed. Zane hadn’t noticed, but all the other attendees had gotten in without a mark.

“Remember how I said y’all are gettin’ in free tonight,” Treyton explained. “This is yer free ticket.”

They nodded their heads as Kaeden extended the back of his hand out to Zane’s uncle. Treyton solidly pressed a stamp down on his hand, the blue color left behind sinking deep into his pale skin like a tattoo. Zane proceeded to do the same for Harry, who marked his hand with a black darker than the night itself.

“What do the colors mean?” Zane questioned.

“Whatever ink we’re usin’.” Harry snarked, sending him on his way. Zane sighed as he strolled through the gate.

“I’ll be at a food stand later tonight so make sure to come and visit me!” Treyton shouted as they disappeared into the crowd.

“We can do this,” Kaeden whispered, grabbing Zane’s hand and dragging him to the stands. He sounded reassuring, but Zane couldn’t tell if it was for him or Kaedan himself.

“It’s just for tonight,” Kaedan continued, “After that, we won’t have to deal with Harry, or anyone for that matter. Except for your uncle of course.”

Zane grinned--his boyfriend always knew how to cheer him up.

“And besides,” Kaeden continued. “Look at how much we have to explore!”

It might have been a bit exaggerated, but there was a some space to venture. Besides the stands, there were a few porta potties, some food stands, and a big tent filled with gear for the local country radio station. The tent was their first destination, looking through all the merchandise and advertisements. Although they both hated country music, they had fun exploring the booth, even signing up for a raffle to a Chase Rice concert. Did they know who he was? No--but they didn’t care. Even though they got a few sideways glances from passing families and couples, they were actually enjoying their time at the rodeo. Zane and Kaeden were there to have fun just like everyone else.

9.8 SECONDS! THAT WAS A GOOD TUSSLE, DAVE!

The pair watched on as the participant was whipped off the horse’s back. The first few rounds had looked painful, but Kaeden and Zane eventually stopped flinching after every contestant. It was the sport after all, so they shouldn’t be worried unless everyone else was worried. The uncomfortable thing was, everyone at the rodeo did seem slightly on edge, but it wasn’t over the participants. Unsurprisingly, it was over them.

“Hey,” Zane said, elbowing his partner to grab his attention. “Is it me or is there something strange about the crowd here?”

“You mean how they’re all looking at us like we’re sick?” Kaeden asked, not tearing his eyes away from the next contestant.

8.7 SECONDS! IMPRESSIVE GRIP FROM HANK!

“Well, yeah, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“I don’t know, I mean…” Zane stumbled off, noticing Kaeden was still focused on the riders.

9.4 SECONDS! NICE JOB MARV!

“Earth to Kaedan!” Zane snapped, finally snatching the other’s attention. “For example, did we miss out on some color-coded theme? Why is everyone segregated?”

Kaeden glanced around the stands, noticing what his boyfriend was talking about. Although everyone was clumped together, there were noticeable separations. It seemed like groups of men, women, and children were organized by the shading of their clothes. It was peculiar, but so were most small, rural towns.

“Calm down, babe,” Kaeden replied nonchalantly. “It’s probably just some cheerleading thing, you know? Like someone’s family wears orange because their their fanclub.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” Zane conceded.

10.1 SECONDS! I’D EXPECT NOTHING LESS FROM RYLAN!

“You’re probably just paranoid from all the homophobia around here,” Kaeden reasoned. “But luckily, I know what’ll cheer you up.”

“Oh really,” Zane responded coyly.

“Definitely, meet me at your uncle’s food stand and I’ll get us some snacks.”

“Alright, but I’m gonna head to a restroom first.”

“Miss me!” Kaeden exclaimed as he rushed down the risers. Zane grinned, knowing he was lucky to have snagged his boyfriend.

— —

“Ah! Sorry,” Zane grunted as he shimmied out of the porta potty door, noticing the growing line that had assembled outside. He thought he hadn’t taken too long, but when one’s bowels beg for release, one has to give in. Walking with a little pep in his step, he eagerly bounced his way around the rodeo grounds to find his uncle’s food stand. Kaeden knew Zane had a soft spot for food, which was pretty evident by the soft spots around his hips. He was excited to see what he had gotten for him. After wandering around for a minute, he finally spotted his uncle stepping outside an old trailer.

“Uncle Treyton!” Zane shouted as he approached.

“Eh, Zane! What’s up? Enjoyin’ the rodeo?”

“I guess?” Zane replied honestly. “Have you seen Kaeden?”

“Ah yeah, he was my last customer for the night. I saw him walkin’ over to the picnic area,” Treyton grunted, locking the door to the trailer as he closed up.

“Thanks!” Zane responded, beginning to walk off.

“Hold on there, cowboy!” Treyton demanded, chuckling at his own irony. “I’m gonna be headin’ back to the ranch, gotta long day of work tomorrow, so make sure y’all don’t stay out too late.”

“Sounds good, Uncle Treyton!” Zane started again, desperately wanting to get back to Kaeden.

“AND!” Treyton emphasized. “Harry wanted to see ya ‘bout somethin’ before ya left. He should be at the stables.”

“Great, thanks!” Zane tore off, almost kicking up the dirt behind him as he darted back towards the porta potties. He made it to the picnic area in record time, almost panting as he slowed down. The so-called “picnic area” was really just a group of tables resting behind the bleachers, with no real purpose besides having a surface to eat at. Zane searched for Kaeden, but it seemed like the place was totally empty. The only person he saw was a man sitting alone, ravenously scarfing down an order of nachos. He was wearing a blue plaid button-up and the same straight, overused jeans as every other man at the rodeo. He also adorned a cowboy hat, a quite brawny body, and a bulge much larger than both Kaedan and Zane’s combined. The cowboy looked to be in his late 20’s, but his brunette chin strap and mustache combo made him seem older. Zane approached the other man delicately, noticing the redneck’s very large boots tap eagerly as he chowed on his food.

“Um, excuse me…” Zane mumbled quietly. “I was wondering if-”

“Zane!” the man jumped up from his seat. “I was worryin’ ‘bout you! Thought you might’ve gotten stuck er somethin’.” Zane shook his head, confused at who the low-pitched, southern gent was exactly.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Zane, it’s Clayton!” he paused, waiting for Zane to remember.

“Clayton Sherman?” Zane was still bewildered, until something clicked in his head.

“Wait, Kaedan?”

“No, Clayton. Didja hit yer head or somethin’?”

Zane felt a little crazy, but something supernatural was pulling him towards this stranger. He didn’t know what the force was, but his curiosity guided him.

“One sec, just let me check something.”

Zane grabbed Clayton’s right hand swiftly, finding the same blue stamp that his boyfriend had received earlier. Although it had faded dramatically, it was good enough proof for Zane.

“Kaedan, what happened to you? How did you become like this? What happened after you left the stand?” Zane must have been hallucinating. There was no way his long, slim, ginger lover had become some horse-kickin’, tobacco-spittin’ cowboy, right?

“First off, it’s Clayton,” Clayton responded calmly. “And I did exactly what I said I would. I went to yer uncle’s stand and got us some food. He told me he’d give us ‘somethin’ special’ and slapped my hand, saying it would be on the house. Can you believe it? These darn nachos were free!”

“Alright,” Zane quickly remarked. “Then what?”

“Well, I waited for ya, but the nachos kept lookin’ at me. So, I thought ya wouldn’t mind if I took a bite. One bite became two, then three, and now we’re here.” Clayton showed Zane the empty box, beaming a childish smile.

“Kaedan, I don’t under-”

Suddenly, Zane grabbed his head as he felt a shock go through his skull. He grimaced as it coursed through his brain, causing him to shake momentarily before regaining his thoughts. As fast as the pain had come, it had disappeared too.

“Y’all ok there?” Clayton asked, patting Zane’s shoulder in a brotherly way.

“Yeah, I think so,” Zane blinked. “What were we talking about again?”

“How I ate all the food!” Clayton hollered, laughing at himself in a low guffaw. “We oughta get back to the rodeo though, Little Petey’s going up soon.”

“Little Petey?” Zane mumbled to himself as the two hoisted themselves up. At first, he didn’t recognize the name, but the more he thought about it, the more memories that seemed to appear. Little Petey was Clayton’s little brother of course! Both Clayton and Pete Sherman were expert horse riders, having both broken records for steer wrestling and bull riding. They’d also been the star quarterbacks for the town back in their prime, but now with Pete turning 26 and Clayton having his second kid on the way, they were ready to settle down and start (or continue) their families.

“Yeah! I gotta run on back to Cassie and Trevor. Nice seein’ ya round these parts again!”

Clayton tossed the empty carton into the trash and ran off back to the stands. Zane watched the man dash up the wooden bleachers to his wife and first boy, embracing them as he sat down to continue watching the show. He sunk right back into the cluster of blue, completely camouflaged by the other people in the crowd. Zane didn’t really know Clayton, just remembered him as someone who worked at his uncle’s farm. He seemed nice, but definitely not friend-material. He had a little too much homophobia and country in him. Zane stopped for a moment to correct himself. Clayton didn’t have a little too much; he had a lot of too much.

8.3 SECONDS! LET’S HEAR IT FOR MIKE!

Deciding he had nothing else to do, Zane started heading back towards the parking lot. Although the event seemed kind of interesting, Zane was too lonesome to really find any joy in the situation. Even his uncle’s presence would’ve made him want to stay, but with no one there by his side, Zane decided to head out. Right as he stepped through the gate, he suddenly recalled his uncle saying something about Harry wanting to see him. He didn’t like Harry, and he assumed it worked the other way around too, but Zane knew he should respect his uncle’s wishes.

8.9 SECONDS! DANNY’S HERE TO STAY!

Zane stumbled into the area housing the horse stables, the place completely deserted besides the rolling tumbleweeds. Strolling past a few horse-buses, it didn’t take long to find Harry. He grinned as Zane approached, holding a lasso in one hand.

“‘Bout time you got here, thinkin’ you got lost er somethin’.”

“Wish I would have,” Zane mumbled to himself as Harry tossed an arm around his shoulder. Harry suddenly seemed more cheery than he had been before.

“Did yer uncle tell ya what yer doing here?”

“No, but I hope it’s not too long; I’m getting tired.” To emphasize his point, Zane faked a huge yawn.

“Not that, fag,” Harry chuckled, dropping down one end of the rope. “I mean this vacation.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Back in high school, yer pops, uncle, and I used to be the studs of the town. Valuable players, intimidatin’ cowboys, 100% corn-fed beef. But when yer pops was offered an education out east, the three of us fell apart.”

“Yeah, so what?”Zane was uninterested, finding the cowboy’s bulge as the only thing appealing about Harry. Zane had a bad habit of checking out other men when he was single.

“Well,” Harry continued, dragging Zane into a stable. “When yer pops saw how off-track he had raised ya, he called up Treyton and I to put a little country in ya. We knew we were gonna have fun, but when ya brought along that Irish laddy too, that was just a cherry for the top.”

Zane shook his head in bewilderment. Who was Harry talking about? He had obviously come here alone.

“See, originally Treyton wanted you as part of his ranch, but when yer boyfriend came he decided to pass the sweeter treat off to me. I think yeu’ll really-”

“Woah, slow down a moment,” Zane rubbed his temples, losing track of everything.

“Ah, I fergot about the mental stuff,” Harry contemplated, thinking about how to explain everything. He had to find a way to explain it all to the boy.

“Remember how everyone in the stands was segregated by their clothin’ color?”

“Yeah?” Zane clearly remembered, as he had stuck out like a sore thumb, but he didn’t understand why this was important now.

“Well, they’re all branded to some ranch, that’s why they stick to one color.”

Harry’s answer made sense to him, but Zane was still visibly perplexed.

“Look at Kae- I mean Clayton Sherman,” Harry started. “He works for yer uncle’s ranch. What color to they wear?”

“Blue?”

“Exactly!” Harry slapped Zane’s back, knocking the wind out of the other man.

“Every color here is for someone’s ranch. Blue is Welch, green is Smith, white for Johnson-”

“How... how many are there?” Zane stuttered, the pieces gradually coming together.

“10, ‘cluding myself,” Harry responded proudly.

“So what you’re saying,” Zane reasoned. “Is that these ranch owner’s ‘brand’ people to be part of their ‘ranch,’ claiming them as their property?”

“Eeyup.”

“And why are you telling me this?”

“Thought you oughta know beforehand.”Zane was about to ask what that meant, but before he could speak, something clicked together in his head.

“You own one of these ‘ranches’?”

“The stunnin’ Mueller Ranch.”

“And what color are you?”

Zane already knew the answer, hoping to distract the other man, but he wasn’t fast enough to dodge Harry’s launch. The older cowboy tackled Zane to the ground, the stench of hay and manure infiltrating Zane’s lungs as his face graced the dirt floor. Zane, not one to be athletic, surprisingly twisted himself out of Harry’s grasp, rolling sideways before getting up and escaping. He started running to his truck, desperately shuffling through his pockets to find the keys. Frantically scurrying away, he didn’t even notice his foot slip right out from beneath him.

“Gotcha!”

Harry cackled heartily as he looked upon his captured prey, who was clawing at the rope helplessly. It seemed like a scene from an old western cartoon: the fool stepping into the lasso and getting caught. Harry had already tied the other end of the rope to a stable post, approaching Zane with a face gleaming with malice. Zane trembled in fear, giving up hope on flight and nervously accepting the fight. As Harry took the final steps, Zane's cowered timidly as he gave up. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but he knew something was going to be over. Then, to Zane’s pure surprise, a hand stretched out to help him up.

“Come on,” Harry welcomed warmly.

Zane’s heart stopped. Was Harry… serious? Was this all some prank just to scare him? Zane didn’t know what was going on, but he decided that once he got out of this mess he’d stay in the sweet shelter of his uncle’s ranch. After the week was over, he was never coming back to this pathetic town, or Wyoming for that sake.

“Are ya gonna take it or what?”

Zane sighed, clasping his hand into Harry’s. As soon as they connected, Harry’s flowery smile instantly twisted back into the thorny smirk.

“It’s just too easy.”

Before Zane could react, Harry flipped the other’s hand over and tapped the black stamp. Instantaneously, time stopped around them. The whole moment felt electric, almost as if everything in existence had shifted, but it was simply only a light touch. Zane gasped as he got up, struggling to speak.

“What… what did you do?”

“Eh, nothin’ yeu’ll remember,” Harry chimed. Zane investigated the back of his hand, noticing a slight pulse as the black stamp began to fade. He was shocked to see the color slowly draining from it into his veins, noticing the same inky shade pumping into his bloodstream.

“Oh no,” Zane cried as a small crackling came from his knuckles. It sounded similar to an orchestra of crickets, the hundreds of minuscule pops signifying the growth of his average hands. Zane’s palms grew thicker at a sluggish pace, bloating with meat as his fingers grew into calloused sausages. Zane groaned in pain while his hands became paws, now feeling like he was wearing bulky, leather mittens instead of skin.

The raven color flew through Zane’s arms, gliding across his chest before venturing vertically. To Zane’s dismay, his unused tendons stretched intensely, expanding as they made room for the arriving muscular tissue. Biceps proudly emerged as their brotherly triceps erupted from underneath Zane’s flesh, causing him to writhe. His forearms gained some meat too before a tan wave swept across the surface of his skin. The classic shade darkened Zane’s pale skin as a field of hair was planted on top. Before long, Zane’s arms looked like an avid gym-goer’s, yet for some reason his mind told him they were from the farm.

After improving the upper appendages, the ink moved downwards, cutting through Zane’s chest. His deltoids pushed outwards as his collarbone expanded, barely extending his traps as his torso began to shift into the shape of a “T”. His pectorals ballooned outwards, forming into meaty packages with two perky nipples, obviously erect underneath his shrinking tee. After the pecs squared out, Zane moaned as a sturdy six pack pounded in, each abdominal packing a punch as it pushed forward. A light covering of fur erupted from his chest while the tan wave made sure to paint itself once more. Zane began panting for air violently, each breath sucking in a little body fat. It didn’t remove all of his fat, but enough to maintain something barely below a body-builder’s standards. His shirt also stitched itself back together, having been torn apart seconds before. The cheap concert tee grew black as it painted itself back onto Zane’s torso, the dusky color hiding its overuse.

Following were Zane’s legs, as the black blood dove deeper. His juicy thighs began to tighten, retaining their above-average size, but now containing more muscle than meat. After his quadriceps had hardened, his knees cracked violently, stretching out Zane’s calves to max him out at 6’2. The bottom of his sweatpants violently tore to reveal two meaty forelegs, both veiny, firm, and covered in a lathering of hair. His pale skin darkened as his legs were covered in a loose denim, locking away his lower appendages.

With Zane’s lower body now covered in an old pair of Wranglers, the ink took hold of his feet, which were currently snug in a pair of Sperry’s boat shoes, the only shoes he had brought with him. In an instant, the leather and cloth tore apart in the middle, blossoming open like a flower to reveal gargantuan Size 15 feet. Zane was appalled to see the hairy, meaty, and awfully rank monsters attached below his ankles, but to his luck, the shredded shoes began to reform. The leather gracefully became cowhide as it expertly resowed itself around Zane’s feet, traveling up to his midcalves to create two authentic cowboy boots. Zane however didn’t feel relieved, in fact all he could feel was the sweat of his massive feet filling up the shoes. His socks hadn’t reformed, so it appeared he was going commando in his boots.

The ink swam up to the top, touching up on any missed spots. After filling in Zane’s pits with a hearty amount of hair, the black blood filled in his neck, adding girth to support the maturing Adam’s apple. Vocal chords stretched as the Zane’s register reached new depths, causing him to violently cough and sputter as he adjusted, allowing the ink to shoot upwards. Zane cried out in pain as the black blood clutched his skull, pulling apart at the bones to give him a thicker head. While the baby fat was removed, his jaw was stretched horizontally, giving him a prominent chin just large enough for a cleft. His lips shrunk while his nose expanded, filling in along with his expanding brows. Zane’s eyes shifted from a bland brown to easy-going blue as his hair shaved away, leaving a no-effort buzzcut where a manicured mane once laid. The vibrant green color rapidly faded, giving way to a light brown that easily shaded in Zane’s new haircut and thickening chinstrap. Across his body, his skin tightened barely as his body packed on a few extra years. It wasn’t a noticeable difference, but Zane no longer had the same glow of young adulthood.

“Ah Lordee,” Zane grumbled, getting up as his language center reorganized itself. “What’d y’all do to me?”

“Well, there’s still one more thing to go,” Harry replied, watching Zane shakily ascend. When the other man stood straight, he now faced eye to eye with the other cowboy.

“What in tarnation is left?”

“Just give it a sec-”

“I ain’t got no time for games, I’m gettin’-”

Suddenly, Zane felt an electrifying pulse throughout his groin, the rest of the ink finally reaching his reproductive center. The black blood infiltrated his testicles, killing off the weak sperm as it overtook his pouch. Zane’s balls bloated as they became heavy with cowboy sperm, dropping dramatically due to the increased weight. The ink traveled into his medium-sized penis, engorging it almost instantly. At first, Zane felt like he was having the most powerful boner of his life, but he began to realize his dick was in fact growing. His member began pulsating with the foreign blood, elongating as it grew to a mighty 10 inches. In the back end, his buttocks blew up into two massive, hardened globes, pushing against the confines of one end of the jeans while his pouch took the other.

Losing all sense of reality, Zane furiously palmed himself through his jeans, the feeling of his newly-materialized boxer shorts rubbing against his sensitive tip driving him crazy. Precumming in seconds due to the pent up stress, Zane was too horny to realize what he was doing, or what he was losing. His prized Yale education evaporated like powdered milk into his ballsack. Next went his East Coast upbringing, his progressive ideas and urban lifestyle disappearing into the void that was his semen. In tow was his homosexuality, which was thrown into the fire inside his testicles. Even a sizeable chunk of his IQ was tossed into the mixing pot. Everything about Zane was sucked down into his sperm, ready to be expelled permanently.

“C’mon boy,” Harry shouted eagerly. “Ya know what ya want to do!”

Zane grunted as he groped himself once more, feeling a burst of static electricity coarse across his body. Grabbing a nearby fence, Zane steadied himself against the stable wall as he felt the rush coming.

“Wow-ie!”

A huge load of sperm coated the front of the Wranglers, causing the area beneath the giant belt buckle to darken dramatically. Not bothering to clean himself up, the young cowboy basked in the afterglow of ejaculation, truly content with himself. He adjusted his pouch one last time, with his other hand still secured to the fence.

“There ya go, that felt better, didn’t it?” Harry slapped a hand around the other man, securing the black cowboy hat on top of the other’s head while doing so.

“Ah yeah, Sir, that one was a goodie,” the other replied, the two slowly making their way back to the main grounds.

“Tell me, Wayne, where the wife and kids at? Shouldn’t they be at the rodeo?”

“They are, Sir,” Wayne responded quickly. “They’re sittin’ near the back of the bleachers with the other ranch families.”

“Ah I see.”

10.5 SECONDS! PETE’S WOWED US AGAIN FOLKS!

Harry paused in front of the main gate, shuffling his hand through his pocket to find his keys and some Copenhagen chew.

“I best be headin’ out,” he stated. “We got a long day at the ranch tomorrow, lots of hay bale shipments to move out.”

“Sounds good, Sir.” Wayne extended his hand out, “I’ll see y’all bright and early tomorrow mornin’.”

“See y’all then, Wayne.”

The two vigorously shook hands, with Harry delighted to see the disappearance of a certain black stamp. They waved each other off as Harry walked back to his truck. After watching his boss leave, Wayne was elated to go back to his family, with one beautiful wife and three handsome sons to entertain. Turning 29 in a matter of days (his birthday shared with Pete Sherman’s, or “Little Petey” as the town called him), Wayne had already accomplished his major goal in life, growing the Woods family. It only seemed like yesterday that he and his wife were high school sweethearts, but now they owned their own little home with three rowdy chaps running around everywhere. It was going to be Wayne’s job to teach them the right morals just like how his father taught him. Over the years, he’d teach them about Christianity, voting Red, being country men, and how to swoon ladies. But, with the oldest one only in first grade, he thought it might be best to wait a bit longer.

Inspecting the bleachers, it didn’t take Wayne long to find his family. He ran up to them and sat down immediately, ready to keep enjoying the show. He quickly explained to his wife what his boss had wanted him for, saying Harry had just wanted an update on the coming fourth child. Wayne then kissed his wife passionately before giving his attention back to the rodeo, applauding as the last participant finished off the night.

10.3 SECONDS! CHRIS ENDED THE NIGHT STRONG!

ANOTHER GREAT YEAR WITH A DARN GREAT CROWD! THANKS FOR COMIN’ OUT FOLKS, WE’LL SEE Y’ALL AGAIN NEXT YEAR!