Model Tf - Blog Posts
Ostello della Moda: Bruno
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Dylan hated Italy so far. It wasn't really "Italy's" fault, but his travel plans had been messed up. His plane leaving New York had been delayed, which meant he missed his connecting flight in Amsterdam, etc...but he was finally there. The airline had helped him arrive only a few hours later than expected in Milan, but it was frustrating nonetheless. He hadn't slept for hours and was exhausted by the time he arrived at "Ostello della moda." He had received some texts from Walter and Tyler, both of whom were supposed already at the hostel, but Nico at the front desk seemed confused about their arrival schedule. He insisted that everything was fine.
"Just need passport and paperwork. All is good," he said re-assuredly. "Your friends are coming. Or, maybe they go out for the night. I will help," he said. Dylan was too tired to eat any of the food. Even though he was a picky eater, he had managed to get a plump belly and flabby chest by his mid-twenties. Italian food wasn't really his "thing" and he just wanted to sleep. He dragged his suitcase to his room, panting and sweating in the hot humid hallway. He unlocked the door and threw his things on Bunk B. Someone was in the shower and Dylan wondered if maybe it was Tyler or Walter, but before Dylan could leave the room to avoid an awkward encounter, out stepped a steaming, muscular Italian man.
"Hi...I'm Dylan ... I mean ... 'Bruno,'" he corrected as he pointed to his name tag.
"Ciao! Antonio," replied the man without hesitation. "Eh, welcome to room ... eh, I go out ... eh ... downstairs?"
"Sure," said Dylan. "Have you seen someone named Walter?"
"Ooh-alter?" replied Antonio. "No."
Antonio left the room, leaving Dylan to himself. Since two of the beds were already occupied, he wondered if there was some mistake. Dylan was sure that they had ordered an entire room with five bunks, but maybe he missed something in the translation. In either case, Dylan was exhausted. He laid down on the bed, his eyes immediately closing.
He woke up a few hours later and the room was sweltering hot and it was dark outside. Dylan was still wearing his dirty travel clothes, so he stripped down to his underwear and walked over to the window, hoping to maybe let in some fresh air. He looked out across the street and saw dozens of young people walking around and enjoying the busy nightlife.
"So much for going out tonight..." he said as he rubbed his throbbing head and tried to swallow saliva from his dry mouth. He went into the bathroom and splashed some water on his face and drank with his hands. He looked in the mirror and saw a pair of dark brown eyes staring back. He blinked and his eyes returned to their blue-green.
"Fuck..." he whispered, realizing how exhausted he still was. He slumped back into bed letting the cool night air and the sound of the street wash over him as he lay on his bunk.
He tossed and turned, and the sheets felt like pin pricks and his body was hot. After maybe an hour, his two roommates burst into the room. Discussing in rapid Italian and clearly staggering from too much beer.
"Dov'è Bruno?" they shouted, followed by "Bruno, sveglia!" They pulled Dylan from his bed, but he was still half-asleep. They handed him a bottle of beer and helped him into a shirt, jeans, and sandals.
"No ... let me sleep ... I'm not Bruno ... I'm ... tired ..." Dylan protested. But they insisted and pulled him into the hallway. On his way down, he drank a little of the bottle and felt more relaxed. They had dressed him in a pink brotank and tight jeans and marched him towards the door. They crossed the street and Dylan finished his beer as they plopped him into a chair. A man took a clippers and shaved his head. He heard a high buzzing sound and felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. Groggily, Dylan saw himself in the mirror. The reflection was a muscular, hairy, man with cropped hair, scruffy stubble, and arms and chests covered in tattoos. The man worked with the needle on another tattoo.
Surprisingly, the chubby, blonde boy that had come to Italy was erased with the very definition of "macho." Even in his pink tank top, he looked every inch like an Italian brute. As the alcohol took more effect and the hypnotic whining of the tattoo needle continued, he heard a name repeated over and over until it became his own. He was Bruno. His friends convinced him to go out tonight, and he was glad they did. Bruno was always looking for a good time. And everytime he partied or caused mayhem, it was another badge of honor for his image as the "Uomo supremo." He would get another tattoo to prove it.
Ostello della Moda: Christofano
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Tyler tried arguing with the man at the luggage counter but it was getting him nowhere. "My luggage was never transferred from Oslo ... but what will I do?" Tyler had planned on arriving later than his friends, but at the last minute, his booking company offered him a free upgrade to travel earlier. He was supposed to get there in the evening, but it was only 10:00 AM. Clearly, this "free" upgrade had cost him a day without his luggage. He had checked everything except a small backpack with his passport, phone, and a sweatshirt. He basically had the clothes on his back.
"And ... when my luggage comes ... you will transfer it to my hotel?" he asked.
"Yes," said the man speaking with very broken English. "Ostello della Moda..." he continued in rapid Italian. A few minutes later, he had negotiated with a few more customer service agents to get a free taxi ride to the hostel. The driver said he worker for "Ostello" and would bring him there immediately. But after an hour of winding through the grimier streets of Milan, Tyler wasn't so sure he trusted the man. The taxi drove past what looked like the red carpet to a fashion show or celebrity event. A few meters later, the cab pulled into a gated courtyard.
"Ostello della Moda," said the driver.
"Are you sure?" said Tyler. "This doesn't look like the picture I remember." The driver opened the trunk, jumped out and grabbed his backpack. Before Tyler could open his door, the driver ran into the courtyard with his backpack.
"Shit!" Tyler shouted as he struggled with the door, stumbled out of the cab, and raced after the man. The man turned into a dark door and Tyler followed him. He needed to get his backpack! Otherwise, he was lost in Italy with no phone, no IDs, and no money! He burst into the dark room and was knocked out cold by a stranger hiding inside.
"No ... please ... I don't have anything ..." Tyler mumbled as a pair of men pinned him down. His cab driver had opened his backpack and found his money and ID. "Let me go ... please ..." But the men had him trapped. One of them put a cloth over his mouth that had a fragrant chemical -- almost cologne like. He gagged a little, but then relaxed. He drifted off to sleep...
When he woke up, he could faintly hear electronic dance music through the walls. He had expected to be tied up in a dark room somewhere, but was just sitting on a chair in what looked like a dressing room. He blinked in the bright lights and saw that he had been stripped except for pair of tight athletic shorts. He looked down at his body in shock. His dark tan skin was covered in short curly hairs. His torso and abs were chiseled. His arms had small veins popping out toned muscle. He looked in the mirror and saw dark eyes looking back, a sexy stubbled jaw, and a thin dark mustache and goatee.
"Merda, che ora è?" he thought to himself, realizing a second later, than he had thought the phrase in Italian, not English. His head was pounding and the music seemed to be getting louder.
A short aggressive woman burst into the room and shouted at him. "Christo! Mossa! Tu sei il prossimo!" He jumped up and raced after her. He was backstage of a theatre that was filled with smoke, bright lights, and upbeat electronic music. Dozens of other men were crowded around him, each surrounded by crew members adjusting their clothes, fixing their makeup, and pushing them towards the door onto the stage. One of the crew dangled some necklaces over his neck and placed a neon baseball cap on his head. They adjusted a few bracelets on his arms. A young man wearing a headset pointed at him as the crew finished by oiling his chest so he looked sweaty and rugged. In a second, he followed the man in front of him onto the runway.
It was an exhilarating experience. Dozens of cameras flashed as he walked down the runway, making his turns, and modeling his body and clothes. He felt empowered as they gazed on his nearly naked body. It was a primal and raw feeling. He turned back towards the entrance -- a completely changed man! He had become Christofano -- one of hundreds of male models working in fashion district of Milan. With every new outfit, every camera flash, and every trip down the runway, he was embracing his new life.
After the show, he found was given a backpack with a set of clothes. He assumed they were his, so his way back to the courtyard where the taxi had dropped him off. The driver was waiting there. He handed him a cell phone and passport, which he said that Christofano had left behind accidentally in the cab. He thanked him and they drove off to the "Ostello della Moda." He saw a message from the airport and the hostel on his phone. His bag had been transferred to the hostel, he was in Bunk C. He texted his friend, who he hoped would meet him at the bar for a night of celebration.
In his mind, the thoughts of the airport, the missing luggage, the mysterious taxi driver, reminded him of something -- it was odd! But, then he remembered that he had done a photo shoot in Oslo recently ... or had he? Was he meeting some American friends at the hostel? But, who did he know from America? And wasn't his career based in Milan? Was he living in a hostel? Didn't he have an apartment that he shared with his friends ... what were there names? He couldn't remember, but figured it was probably fatigue from the show.
He walked into the hostel and the host greeted him. He explained the whole situation with the luggage -- two of his friends had arrived, but he should just wait at the bar. He drained his first beer, still a little lost about why he was spending the night at this hostel. Suddenly, someone shouted out his name.
"Christo!"
He turned to the man, a wave of recognition passing over him. "Antonio!"
They talked about how tonight they were celebrating with friends. First, they needed to drink! Then, they had a surprise for Bruno ... their friend waiting upstairs!
Making a Model
Travis made a double-take as he walked down the street on his way back from the liquor store in preparation for the house party he’d been invited to. It was a shopfront that caught his eye, one that he could have sworn wasn’t there the day prior.
“‘New You’, huh?”, the little, shiny shopfront intrigued him, “A clothing store, or something?”
Travis pushed on the door and took in the space, it was large and organized. Aisles ran long and contained everything from clothing, costumes, and accessories, to sporting goods, sex toys, and novelty items. The store seemed devoid of other customers, and staff as well.
“What a weird place,” Travis moved along to a counter of trinkets and small goods stacked neatly into stands. Small bottles of what Travis believed to be novelty drinks were scattered through a stepped stand.
“Liquid Wish?” Travis, being a rational 27-year-old man, was not convinced by the magical claims written on the bottle. But, he was interested in something that might sweeten the cheap, unpalatable vodka he’d bought minutes prior.
“Hi there, can I help you with anything?”, a deep voice startled Travis as he turned to see a tall, well-dressed muscular man standing behind him.
“Oh! Um, I was wondering is this, like, safe? And, uh, do you know what it tastes like?”
“Perfectly safe! This one is raspberry if I remember right… Berry of some sort,” the man chuckled as he gestured to the bottle visible through Travis’ grocery bag, “Looks like a big night coming up?”
“Ha, yeah I think so,” Travis laughed, “I think I’ll take this?”
The men moved to the register and Travis handed over what he thought to be an exorbitant $10 for the small amount of pink mixer.
“I should mention, you need to drink it all before making a wish,” the clerk said with a wink. Travis smiled nervously, he couldn’t quite tell if the man was joking or not.
Not long thereafter, Travis found himself at the party with his friend Ben. The two chatted underneath strings of party lights in the large, decorated yard of a stunning home. Travis was making short work of the sweet cordial, mixing it into his cheap vodka, pouring the last of it into what was his fourth drink.
He felt out of place, knowing next to nobody here. It was Ben’s socialite friend-of-a-friend who had dished out the extravagant invites after all. And that was reflected amongst the attendees: attractive, well-dressed models and influencers.
“Who’s this friend of yours again? How does he know so many good-looking people?” Travis asked, incredulous at the attractiveness of the crowd.
“Friend of a friend, actually. I don’t really know them. All I know is he’s some ‘Instagay’ type,” Ben explained.
“Well I guess that explains this crowd,” Travis gestured, “Wish I looked as good as these guys.”
And with those words uttered, Travis felt a flutter in his stomach, not even thinking about the “Liquid Wish” he’d drank or the store clerk’s remarks.
After entertaining themselves for quite a while longer, Travis found himself airing his chest by pulling at his shirt. He felt unusually warm for this time of night.
“Jesus, Trav, you’re sweating like crazy!”, Ben was taken aback by how feverish his friend had become in such a short space of time. Travis reached for his forehead, sweat coating his hand. He could feel the heat radiating off his face.
“I must be coming down with something,” Travis could feel himself burning up, “I think I should go.”
“That’s a good idea, shame though… But thanks for coming, Trav. Let me know how you’re doing,” Ben replied sympathetically.
Travis patted his friend on the shoulder and meandered out of the party. The walk back to his apartment wasn’t long, but it felt like an eternity with the stifling fever.
“Shit, it was probably something in that fucking drink,” Travis thought to himself as he stumbled home.
With a sigh of relief, he threw his keys to the side and collapsed onto his bed. He laid atop the sheets groaning at the heat stirring inside him. But that was not all that was stirring. Travis could feel himself becoming hornier by the minute. Before long, his cock was erect and begging for release in his shorts.
His breathing was becoming heavy and rapid. His cock had never felt so hard in his life. He wrinkled the sheets in his fists while his whisper-soft moans grew louder and louder. Until, with a gasp, he launched a load of cum into his jeans. It took him a moment to realize what had happened. “What… the fuck… is going on,” confused, he pulled himself upright and stumbled off the bed before collapsing to the floor on his hands and knees.
“What’s… happening,” Travis mumbled feeling his entire body wind up with sexual tension. A guttural groan bellowed out from his throat as his almost six-foot-tall body began to stretch. His lengthening arms pushed him further off the ground, while his legs slid out along the floor. Unable to hold it back, the now six-foot-three Travis orgasmed again.
The same tension filled Travis’s hands and wound its way up his arms. He could feel his biceps swelling against the short sleeves of his shirt while striations of muscle bulged from his forearms. His hands spread further out along the floor, the palms growing outward. His fingers stretched out longer and larger. His arms, meanwhile, throbbed and tore through his sleeves. His shoulders ballooned outward with muscle, destroying the top of the shirt. Travis’s eyes bulged and his cock fired again at the sight of his massive, muscular arms and the large, manicured hands attached to them.
“Please… f- fuck… what’s happening to m- me,” Travis crashed to the floor and rolled onto his back, bending his back upwards. His nipples ached to be touched as pecs swelled outward from his thin chest. Buttons snapped apart and the shirt fell away as his chest heaved larger. He ran his hands across the mounds feeling a smattering of hair gracing his chest. Moving lower he touched the abs that were throbbing outward from his slimming stomach. His fingers traced newly forming cum gutters down to his hips. He could feel how tight and lean his waist was becoming with his jeans loosening slightly.
Travis attempted to remove himself from the floor. He pushed himself back onto his arms and legs, failing to make further progress when wave after wave of pleasure rocked his cock. Cum unloaded over and over as the six-inch member began to slowly enlarge underneath his pants.
The changes continued their migration, with Travis’s lower half next in line. His ass soared outward, thickening and swelling, tearing the rear of his jeans and underwear. Further down, his legs filled with muscle and railed against the denim. His knees burst from the fabric as his calves bulked up dramatically. Thick, meaty thighs tore at the seams, leaving the jeans almost completely in ruins.
Travis’s growing cock jutted out from the mostly destroyed pants, eliciting a loud moan while it unloaded on the floor. Rolling to the side and pushing his hips toward the ceiling he came again, shooting across his beautifully muscular chest. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing: a thicker cock, at least an inch longer, rising skyward.
Travis kicked at the heels of his size ten sneakers, desperate to remove them as they began to constrict his feet. But his lengthening toes bulged against the canvas, tearing through with a rip, followed by a moan. The soles soared into the open air, his arches and heels elongating and widening. Travis could see the toes on his now size thirteens poking above the meaty pecs in front of his face - long, lean, and immaculately cared for.
“God… augh… I- I don’t… understand… w- what’s… happening,” Travis growled feeling his jaw shift. His face shifted sharper and more angular. He clasped at his head, feeling a new nose and mouth. His short hair rustled out longer on the top, styling itself upward into a handsome quiff. His cock throbbed, continuing to creep longer and thicker while larger balls quivered below.
A large hand gripped the tall chest of drawers as Travis pulled himself to his feet and desperately fumbled for the small mirror sitting atop it. He brought it to his face and shuddered at the sight of his stunning new reflection. Trembling, he ran a finger down his cheek and moaned with the confirmation that this was him.
“I- I’m hot?!” Travis stuttered aloud. The eight long, thick inches of cock sticking out from his crotch trembled in excitement at the view. Reluctantly, he grasped his cock in his hand and stroked. He gasped at the sensitivity of the larger head, knowing he wouldn’t last long.
With a gasping roar, Travis came explosively. He fell backward onto his bed, continuing to shoot onto his washboard abs. After the last of his former self was expelled, he stumbled to the bathroom, still in awe at the body he now possessed.
The moment was interrupted by a distant buzz. It was a text from Ben. Travis’s mind raced. How would he explain this? Who would believe him?
He opened the message: “Hope you feel better soon!” Attached below was a selfie of the two of them that Ben had taken earlier in the night, except in the photo Travis looked exactly like he did now. Reality had seemingly shifted around him. But his memory and the tattered clothes lining the floor and hanging from his body told another story. Stunned, Travis flung upon his closet door to see larger, fancier clothes lining the racks and shelves. Still in disbelief, he switched to the camera roll on his phone. All of the old photos of him seemed to reflect his new appearance.
It was only then that he connected the dots: the “Liquid Wish” he’d thought was a gag, followed by the remark that he wished he looked like the attractive men at the party.
“What the fuck was in that stuff,” Travis pondered, thinking back to the store. “But whatever it was, I think I can get used to this,” Travis thought as he glanced in the mirror once more and groped his large package.