Reality Change - Blog Posts

Thanks a lot for the crazy amount of support for my first story!

I hope you all had as much fun reading as I had writing it.

For those interested a new batch of archived stories will be posted the coming week!

The rings: Jake

--- First time writing my own story ---

--- Please let me know what you think ---

Just before the second year of college rolled around I was met with the unfortunate news that my best bro, my roommate, would not be making it to the second year.

Turned out he'd been spending too much time partying, and too little studying. Not even the coach could save him anymore.

Sure, being on a sports scholarship meant studying isn't your main priority but you still had to maintain your grades somewhat if you want to make it to the next year.

To make things worse, my new roommate turned out be some nerd.

Jacob was your average nerd that would be holed up in his room most of the time.

He didn't really bother me. It's just... I had hoped to have a new bro to go to the gym with instead of some wimpy kid.

Color me surprised when the guy came out of his room out of nowhere to ask me to help him some project he was doing for some course.

Something about trying some "telepathy" gear he was working on he was working on for a biomed class.

To be honest it all sounded really like some science mumbo jumbo to me. I must admit I wasn't too excited so I thought I'd struck a deal instead: he'd tutor me for my calc class and I'd try his stupid gear thing.

He seemed happy with the proposal and told me it'd be ready for testing in a couple days.

--

As I stepped out of the bathroom after just taking a shower I was met by Jacob holding two comically large rings which almost looked like miniature hula hoops.

It had been a week since he'd asked me for the favor. To be honest, I'd already forgotten about our agreement.

Though I was a man of my word and did need some help with calc, not wanting to end up like my old buddy.

He signaled for me to sit on the couch as he started to explain all about his new gadget.

Supposedly, the pair of rings were some new technology he was working on. He explained that it allowed the wearers to communicate with each other as if the other person was simply a voice in their head.

I accepted one of the nearly metal rings, the only discernable difference being a smaller engraved letter T on the side indicating that I would be on the receiving end according to Jacob.

Not thinking much of it, I held it over my head as he instructed.

As I pressed the button on the side of the device it quickly shrank, tightly sealing itself on my head.

Jacob, doing the same, had grabbed a small little tablet whilst the ring sealed itself on his head.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yeah, let's get this over with" I replied back.

A large shit-eating grin appeared on his face as he pressed a button on the ring.

"You jocks are real dumbasses, you know. Should've been more skep--" the nerd started saying before he suddenly stopped.

The twig had frozen right in his tracks. He looked as if his soul had left his body.

Testing if he was actually there, I waved my hand in front of his face.

Nothing.

Huh? What the fuck?

Okay, this is kinda weird.

I need to get rid of this ring.

It didn't budge. Not only that, this shitty thing just zapped me as well.

Hmm, think. The nerd mentioned something about telepathy, right?

Hey nerd, you hear me?

No response. Fuck.

I'm gonna look like some freak with this stupid headband there has to be something...

Maybe I should just try the telepathy again.

Hey Jacob, say something!

In an almost comical fashion what seemed like a corpse just uttered one word.

"something"

You've gotta be kidding me.

Uh, let's try something else.

Jacob, jump!

Without skipping a beat he jumped.

This is kinda awesome...

Jacob, explain what your plans were with these rings

"My intention was to use these rings to transform you into a nerd as well as do something other things..."

Explain what you mean with transform

"These rings are a technology I devloped that allows you to transform your target however you like by giving suggestions"

Heh. So, if I told him to grow a pair that would work?

As expected the nerd briefly twitched before a visible bulge started forming.

The Jacob's bulge wasn't the only thing growning larger in the room.

I noticed that my dick started to chub up as well, fueled by this new power I had just obtained.

I realized that with these rings I could do anything.

I could still get the roommate I wanted. And I could make him however I wanted.

--

Time to get to work.

Strip

The pudgy nerd took care of undressing, now showcasing his unimpressive body.

I could not help but feel pity for the guy.

He lacked any muscle definition. The only thing he had going for him was his now bull-sized nuts that looked mismatched compared to the rest of his body.

I should at least give him an appropriate cock to match.

Jacob, add a couple more inches to your cock

His average 5 incher started growing rapidly, reaching a monsterous size of what looked to be 8 inches.

I circled around him, proud of my work while I looked for the next area of improvement.

To be honest, there was a lot of work to be done. Maybe a rough approach would be better.

Adjust your body fat percentage to 7%

His already slim frame now became quite boney.

Add 40 lbs of muscle mass

The same arms that once lacked any muscle mass now had biceps that would rival an amateur body builder.

Veins also started bulging out, running from his large mitts upto his biceps.

The changes didn't stop there, however.

A pair of meat slabs started to form on his chest as well.

Unable to resist, I snuck up behind Jacob to fondle his newly formed pecs whilst also admiring his growing traps.

My hand went slipped down further, sliding into the deep crevasse formed by his 6-pack abs.

It seemed that Jacob hadn't missed leg day either. His legs now looked more like tree trunks that would be easily able to squash a watermelon.

To make the picture complete Jacob's feet had to match as well.

You've always worn a size 13

His feet grew large and veins appeared, much like what had happened to his previously tiny hands.

You've always prefered to keep your hair in a quiff

Jacob's unruly mop had started to style itself in a trendy quiff.

Now, flex for me

Jacob now struck a double bicep pose, his already large biceps forming sizeable peaks.

----

"You mentioned something about jocks and being a real dumbasses didn't you, Jacob?"

Ah, wait.

You will wake up

"Huh, what... Why do I feel heavy..." Jacob murmured before realizing it was caused by his new physique.

"Wait! No. You were supposed to get the receiver not the transmitter! How did I- argh" Jacob said fully grasping the situation now.

"I don't want to be some dumb brute!" Jacob told me, now reaching for the ring.

Don't move

Without missing a beat Jacob froze right in his tracks.

"What are you planning to do to me, you stupid jock?" he asked.

"Stupid jock, huh" I mocked.

"It's funny you say that because right now you look more like a jock than me." I told him.

"Perhaps you just don't think like one... yet" I snarked.

"I remember you said something before. Something about jocks being real dumbasses?"

"Wait no! Please-"

You've always been a dumb

"I- uh.. Hng.. What did I say again...?"

"A real jock wouldn't go by a nerdy name like Jacob, now would he?"

You have always been called Jake

"Bro, I don't know who the fuck you're talking about."

"Ah, nothing to worry about bro" I reassured him.

You only care about is lifting weights and partying. You never bothered with studying.

Oh, and you may move again

"So bro, what's up what are we doing here? We should go to the gym." He asked me, completely oblivious as what happened not even minutes earlier.

"You dumbass, we just got back from the gym." I told him.

"Oh, huhuh, sorry bro, I guess I forgot haha" he replied.

When I call you by the nickname brute, you will obey my instructions, no matter what I tell you

"Hey Brute, won't you help me with getting these rings off?" I ask.

"Of course, anything for you bro" he replied.

A bro is never afraid of a little bromance

A little fire in his eyes lit up.

"So bro, what do I need to do?" he asked.

"On the count on three, we both press the button on the side of the ring. I think that's the only way to get them off" I explained.

"Ready?" I asked.

3.. 2... 1..

I immediately felt relief as the tight ring was now removed from my head.

"Brute, give that ring to me. You never want to touch that ring again. You know big bro will handle it for you" I instruct Jake.

"Here you go, bro" he said handing the ring.

I put the rings on the nearby coffee table.

I was happy. I now got myself the perfect roommate. And, if I needed it I could give additional to my brute.

"Hey Jake, there's a party tonight. You wanna go?" I asked him.

"Of course bro, always down"

"Before that, I've got to ask something" I said, sitting back down on the couch.

"I need a little help with something" I smirked, turned on by all the effort put in transforming my roommate

My dick had become rock hard and was begging for attention.

"You think you can help a bro out?"

Drawn

--- Originally posted on 2024-06-29 by breedertfs ---

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

I find myself getting drawn to your stories more and more often, it's scary! It's like I go into a trance anytime I'm horny and find my way to your blog

It’s almost like that’s my goal, bro.

All guys need a strong, masculine presence in their life. Someone who will guide them and mold them, and I can tell this is attracting you. Do you want someone to talk about what a big, powerful, bad mannered straight man you are? Did your parents fail to set you down the path that now excites you to no end? It’s not your fault, it’s not even theirs.

Sometimes, life isn’t able to give us the tools to become the men we want so badly to be. Maybe you’re a little heavier than the average, maybe you’re too delicate, but something in your upbringing has set you apart from the men that are making you shove your hand down your shorts, stroking your shaft to mental image of musk and muscle and douchebag behavior.

If it sounds so appealing, that’s because your deeper being is begging you to realize this is what you want. It makes you so hard, huh? When I describe a thin guy’s shoulders spreading outwards, broad and strong with bouncing pecs. Beefy arms, tree trunk legs, thick beards reeking of dried pussy juice. The men I specialize in are a special breed, the elite. Of course you’re attracted to them, of course your little brain goes fuzzy and dizzy when you start to jerk it to the idea of a fag becoming a conservative, straight man.

Your cock throbs in your hand, each jerk like a flash in your mind, urging you to look through the illusion you’ve created and see the truth. You get so turned on by these stories because you wish it would happen to you, as if these changes need any magic. Imagine a beautiful woman cupping her fat tits, her slender fingers squeezing her nipples, her body jiggling and shivering with pleasure.

If the idea of sliding your fat cock between her boobs excites you, thrusting until your seed coats her bimbo face, then I’m sorry to tell you, my friend: you’re a straight man. And your body, your former values, are clouding your former rationality and urging you to recognize the kind of man you should allow yourself to become. Just stop taking everything so seriously, allow your thoughts to slow, stop worrying about manners and woke views.

Just think about those huge tits, bro. Think about a squirting pussy, imagine your thick tongue sliding up and down her folds, plunging into her. Imagine your strong hands on her tiny waist, your own stubble on your chiseled jaw growing slick with sweat and juices. Lick your lip, listen to yourself growl, your voice is low and powerful and so demanding. This isn’t a story, this isn’t a wish gone wrong, this is a human male realizing how badly he wants to be a traditional man. No more holding in your farts or belches, no more caring about people’a opinions, no more seeing this woman as anything more than a sex toy to blow your load into. She’s not wife material, brah, but that doesn’t mean she’s not ready to be a mother. Women should know your place like you know yours.

Your bones crack and shift, your expression turns to a sneer, your smile is always so cocky. You are thick with muscle, a cloud of body odor lingering around your glorious muscles, and your fat nine incher is already oozing pre. This is the life you want, the version of you that you want so desperately to take the steering wheel. So let him, bro, let that lustful trance take you where you need to go. Hit the gym, change your political opinions, accept that your cock wants to be deep inside a warm, wet cunt.

Don’t wait for magic, my bro.

There’s nothing more magical than a man who knows his place: and you’re never going to forget where you stand. At the top of the ladder, biceps flexed and your grin smug. Lesser men will wish to be like you, fags are gonna jerk it to your pictures. You just focus on the finer things in life. Sports, cigars, letting your nasty habits be heard and smelled.

Like pulling that blonde bimbo closer, your huge cock thrusting inside her slick folds, her silicone filled tits jiggling from the force. She moans, and you echo the sound with a low growl. You’ll never need to stroke your cock again to my stories — knowing you’ll never run out of fresh, tight pussy to ruin.

Let the trance win, brother. Let the better version of you free.

Roommate Needed 7

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The barrista across the counter looked annoyed with me as I mumbled my way through my order.

"Um ... I'll have the ... uh ... a medium caramel latte."

"What kind of milk?" she asked, but before I could mutter an answer she continued, clearly anticipating my next question. "We have whole, 2%, skim, or soy."

"Whole milk, I guess."

"What's your name?"

"Um ... oh, right ... um ... Elliot"

She gave me a sour look at started working on my drink. She had a few other orders to make, so it would be a little bit of a wait. I suddenly realized that I really had to go to the bathroom and figured my drink would be ready by the time I got back. The coffee shop was pretty full with people, many of them staring into their computer screens or down at their books. No one seemed to notice me as I walked past.

I walked into the bathroom and shut the door. It was a small room, unisex, with a toilet in the corner, a few hooks for clothes or a backpack, a sink, and a mirror. I hung up my bag and saw my reflection in the mirror. My hair hung down over my eyes, touching the frame of my glass and darkening my pale face and watery eyes. My thin arms hung weakly at my side.

On the edge of the sink, I noticed a pair of sunglasses. I picked them up, thinking I would give them to the store manager for the lost and found. But as soon as I touched them, I felt the urge to try them on, just for a second. I had always worn glasses because I had terrible eyesight, so I never had the chance to wear sunglasses very often. I took off my glasses and saw my reflection become blurry in the mirror.

"What's the use," I thought to myself. "I won't really see how I look in them anyway ... I would need my real glasses."

But, as soon as I put on the dark shades, the reflection in the mirror transformed. Through the lenses, I saw the image of a muscular body, perfectly clear. I pulled off the glasses and the world brightened and blurred. I squinted at my reflection and saw that my shirt was unbuttoned. When I put the shades back on, I saw the image again, but this time noticed the tattoos covering his arms and chest. I looked down at my arms and saw that the same tattoos were winding their way up from my wrists, slowly covering my pale skin. This time when I looked at my reflection, I could see myself clearly, as if I no longer needed my glasses. I quickly pulled off my shirt and watched as the tattoos advanced onto my biceps and down my back. I put the shades on again, looked into the mirror and saw that stubble was bristling on my chin.

"This can't be real," I said to myself. I could never grow facial hair. "This must all be some optical illusion."

But, I rubbed my hand against my chin and felt the rough texture. I tipped the glasses down, expecting to see my body transform back into its original, pale and thin version. But the image stayed the same, only the light had changed back to the bright white of the room. I started flexing, watching my muscles tighten and bulge in the mirror. My chest was smooth and tan, clearly shaven and waxed. But at the base of my chiseled abs was a line of hair leading to my crotch.

I unbuckled my belt and pulled my pants down. There I found my manhood bursting out of a tight pair of sports underwear. I guided my erection into the sink and thrust towards my reflection. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the beautiful face and body in front of me. Was this really me? Was this really my body I was pleasuring? With every stroke I felt my mind relaxing into its new self. I was forgetting ... no ... I was remembering. With a final thrust, a hot stream of cum shot into the sink.

I backed away from sink, pleased with my new body. In my backpack, I found a white tank top and a plaid shirt to replace the one I had thrown on the ground. I changed into my new clothes and headed back out into the cafe.

As soon as I reached the counter, I heard the barrista call out a drink. She looked me straight, then scanned up and down, lingering a moment on my crotch, and then blushed as she said, "Medium raspberry mango protein shake for Mark."

I walked up to the counter, smiled a bit, watched the barrista blush even more, grabbed my shake and walked out the door, not wanting to be late for my lifting session with my roommates. They would be waiting for me at the gym.

Roommate Needed Six

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After a few cold days to remind us it was October, the sun decided to come out one last time. It seemed that everyone on campus was making the most of the nice weather. Many were wearing shorts , probably for the last time and schoolwork was the last thing on everyone's mind. As I walked back from class, I noticed a group of five guys playing basketball at the public court. A muscular blonde with red and white shorts went for a long shot. The ball bounced of the rim towards the sidewalk and road. I stopped the ball from rolling into the street and picked up.

"Thanks man," said the blonde as he trotted towards me, sweat glistening down on his shirtless chest.

"Hey Luke," called one of his teammates. "Ask him if he wants to join in. Three on three."

"That's okay," I said as I offered him the ball. "I haven't played in years."

"You sure," said Luke as he grabbed the ball. He looked me straight in the eye and added, "I mean, it's such a nice day and all."

At that moment something stirred inside me. These guys seemed nice enough. None of my friends played any sports and I had always liked basketball in high school.

"What the heck," I answered, following Luke back to the court.

"All right! Thanks dude!" said one of the guys. "I'm Dave. You gonna go shirts or skins?"

"Shirts ... for now," I responded, feeling a little bit awkward. These guys were clearly gym buffs and I was far from it. Everyone on the team introduced themselves. I would be on the shirts team with Dave and Chris, against Joey, Luke, and Sean. We were evenly matched, except I was clearly the smallest guy.

The game began slowly, but as soon as I was given the ball, I felt a new sense of confidence in me. I dribbled past Sean and sunk a short jump shot. When I landed I felt stronger and faster.

"Nice shot," said Dave.

After a few more minutes of playing, I was starting to get into a groove, like I was in perfect form physically. Our team was beginning to pull ahead.

"Water break," said Joey.

The sweat had begun to run down my shirt, so I pulled it off. Underneath, I was surprised to see that I had no tan lines. I never went shirtless, so I was very pale, but today, I had a perfect tan. My body has also grown larger and thicker. My chest was thick with muscle and my abs were well defined. I used my shirt to wipe down the sweat.

"Alright, so how about you go over to skins, because we'd kill them otherwise. Just trade with Luke," said Dave.

"Cool by me, bro," I said, giving him a high five, surprised for three reasons. 1) I never used the word "bro" or gave high fives, 2) I hardly knew these people, and 3) I was completely relaxed being part of this team, like I had played with them for months.

We played for another hour, trading teams and just messing around. I had a couple nice dunks, since I was the tallest and biggest player. We gave each other high fives, fist bumps, and made crude jokes. By the end of the game, they had all taken to calling me Brett. Which as far as I could remember was my name. When we left the court to walk home, I had completely forgotten my life before basketball and these bros of mine.

Roommate Needed Three

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I never expected to get a call so soon after losing my bike. Theft on campus was always a problem, and even though I had bought the best lock, my bike had disappeared a few days ago. I posted the theft online and reported it to the police. The man on the phone said the bike showed up behind their house and didn't belong to anyone in the area. He assumed the thief was stashing it there, so I should come as soon as possible to confirm that it was mine.

Two guys were waiting on the porch, both shirtless, and both with a bottle of beer in hand. "Hey man. I'm Chris and this is Joey. Glad you could make it."

Joey set his empty bottle onto the railing and reached for another. He offered to get me one, but I refused. These kind of guys always intimidated me. I was just a scrawny Freshmen and one look at these two guys and their jacked bodies made me want to leave, with or without my bike. "No problem dude," said Joey. He slapped me on the back and gave me a huge smile. At that moment, I felt my cock stiffen and then relax.

"You said your bike was red, right?" said Chris as he walked down the stairs and headed around the house.

"Yeah. A red Trek," I answered.

"Are you sure?" he replied, with a surprised expression. "Well ... I guess I'm not positive," I answered, starting to doubt myself.

"Well. Your ad said it was a red motorcycle. A Kawasaki." Chris pulled out a piece of paper and showed me. My name and address was clearly printed beneath the picture.

"Right, of course," I blurted out, growing more confused. We walked into an old shed and Joey rolled the bike out onto the yard.

"How 'bout you just take it for a spin," he offered, "You'll remember it better if you give it a ride first."

"Sure thing," I replied. I couldn't remember ever riding a motorcycle before, but somehow I instinctively swung my leg over the seat and started it on the first try. The engine purred and sent vibrations through my body. I sped out of the yard and onto the street. As I accelerated, it felt as if my pants and shirt were tightening.

"It's just the wind," I told myself.

As I shifted gears and turned the corner on the block, I felt myself ease into the seat a bit. The bike felt right to me, like I had ridden it for years. On the last corner, I started feeling a bit cold and looked down and realized that my shirt had somehow disappeared. What appeared beneath it was a smooth, muscular chest, and a chiseled six-pack.

I turned into the driveway of the house. Joey called out, "Welcome back, bro!"

As I walked up the steps, Chris handed me a bottle of beer. I twisted off the cap and sat down on the couch next to Joey.

"Did I miss anything?" I asked.

"Not much, just some Freshie looking for his bike," said Joey.

"Oh, well hope he finds it."

Roommate Needed Two

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I felt a little awkward waiting on the steps, but I had rung the doorbell and their was no turning back. My previous landlord had given me a few days to find a new place, but he wanted me out of the building as soon as possible. Half way through the semester, this was one of the only places still advertising. This neighborhood wasn't my typical crowd, but I would learn to adjust. "As long as I make the rent payments, they shouldn't care about anything else," I told myself.

The man who opened the door was wearing nothing but his boxers and was holding a bowl of cereal. Even though it was afternoon, it looked like he had just woken up. "Hey," I said, trying to look him in the eye rather than his tight abs and pecs, "I'm here about the open room. You're looking for a roommate, right?"

"Yeah, man. Come on in," he said. He shut the door behind me and walked towards the kitchen. "I'm the only one around right now, but let me show you the place. This is the kitchen..."

The place was a total dump, but that was understandable with a group of college guys.

"My name is Chris," he said as he set down his bowl. He picked up a black tank top off a chair and pulled it over his head and every muscle in his torso seemed to flex as it fit into place. "Let me show you your room."

"I haven't even signed any paperwork or anything," I said as we walked up the stairs.

"Don't worry about it, bro. Things are really relaxed around here," he responded. He opened the door and showed me my room. The walls were covered with posters, mostly pictures of cars and motorcycles, and a flag with our school mascot. On the floor was a pile of clothes, a frisbee, and a football. The desk had a few empty beer bottles, but also a nice laptop.

"Does someone still live here," I asked. "I thought it would be emptied out."

"Nah, he just left this behind. Make yourself at home. We can clear it out later," Chris said, taking my bag and throwing it on the bed. I wanted to stop him, but something inside me convinced me otherwise.

We stepped back out into the hallway. "Here's the bathroom and shower."

At that moment, I suddenly realized I had to take a piss. I felt awkward asking, but said, "Can I use it now? Sorry, but I really have to piss!"

Chris laughed. "Sure dude. I'm be in the kitchen making some lunch. You can stay if you want."

"Thanks," I said as he started downstairs. The bathroom was small but had a big mirror and tiled walls all around. As I stepped in front of the mirror, I realized how out of place I would be in this house. Chris was probably six feet tall and built like a bodybuilder. I was only 5'4" and had grown pretty chubby over the years. I wasn't obese, but definitely had a gut, flabby arms, and pudgy face. I walked over to the toilet and knocked over a green baseball hat sitting on the rim of the shower tub. I left it sit on the floor, turned, started unbuttoning my pants. As I finished pissing, I felt a shudder run through my body, like an electric shock. My jeans suddenly fell to my ankles. My shirt starting feeling tight and uncomfortable. I felt my forehead and realized I was sweating profusely. My t-shirt was already drenched and I clumsily pulled it over my head.

Behind me, I heard the shower running. I though to myself, "Was it always running or did it just turn on?" Steam had begun to fill the room and I began breathing deeply. The smell of body wash and cologne drowned my nostrils. I pulled down my boxers and realized my cock was fully erect. It swung heavily from side to side, much larger than I had ever seen it. The mirror was white with steam, but I had a feeling that my body was somehow transforming. I stepped into the shower and let out a deep sigh as the water washed over me. With every passing second, I felt my mind relax and my worries wash down the drain. I grabbed a wash rag, some body wash, and started lathering myself up. As my hands passed over my body, I felt invigorated and full of energy. New muscles flexed beneath the washrag. My hairy chest and arms were smooth and taught. I felt taller and more confident.

I turned off the shower. Wiped the mirror with a towel and looked at my new body. I grabbed the green hat off the floor and put it on my head. In my mind, I felt a surge of memories wash over me. I put on some clothes that were scattered on the floor. And headed back downstairs.

When I stepped into the kitchen, Chris greeted me as if nothing had happened. "Glad to see you're all settled in. Want some lunch?"

"Thanks man," I replied.

Roommate Needed One

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The shelves of the university library pressed in close around my lonely little desk. I had been studying all morning for my exam that afternoon. This week had been busier than usual but I was a dedicated student, and knew that if I studied hard enough, everything would work out fine. I shifted my pile of books around and noticed a small piece of paper fall to the floor and land next to my feet. Out of curiosity, I picked it up. On one side was an address: 914 North Mayfield Street and on the other was a picture of a college aged man. He was clearly an athlete or part of some frat house. The address was on "Greek" street, so I assumed it was some lame invite to a party. But instead the card said, "Roommate Needed."

I put the card in my pocket and as I did felt my cock stir and harden. "That's weird," I whispered to myself. "Guess I've studied so long that I've gotten horny for some guy!" I tried to laugh it off, but my boner was getting bigger and forced me to readjust my underwear. I looked around the library to make sure no one was watching and then plunged my hand into my pants to straighten things out. What I felt was a package I never remembered having before. I glanced down and noticed that I was wearing tight-fitting black boxer briefs, a pair that I knew I hadn't put on that morning, much less ever owned. I unbuttoned my jeans to make room and in the process untucked my shirt and lifted it up a bit. Beneath was a toned six pack of abs.

Out of shock, I stood up and pulled my shirt up further. My chest and arms began pressing against the fabric of my button-up plaid shirt. I quickly unbuttoned it and pulled it over my head. Instead of the plain white t-shirt I normally wore, was a sporty black tank top. I flexed my arms in disbelief and saw the thick muscle tightening. Underneath the shirt, my skin had smoothed out, as if I had shaved my chest and tanned regularly. I pulled off my jeans, which were uncomfortably tight on my new thighs.

"I can't leave the library in my boxers," I thought to myself as I began rummaging through my bag. Although I couldn't remember packing them, I found a pair of black athletic shorts and a baseball cap. I put the hat on first, but turned it backwards after it felt awkward the other way. In the pocket of the shorts I found a silver necklace and a pair of sunglasses. Instinctively, I put my glasses on and snapped the small chain in place.

"Shit! I'm late for exam," I shouted as I gathered up my books. I left the library and walked down the street. Within a few minutes, I forgot where I was going, remember that I never went to class in the afternoon anyway, and found myself turning onto North Mayfield Street. With every step, I felt closer to home.

When I walked up the rickety steps covered in empty bottles and red solo cups, I pulled out my keys and unlocked the door. The beat up couch on the front porch reminded me of dozen of late night parties and game day celebrations. I tossed my bag in my room and headed into the kitchen. When I looked in the mirror, the face seemed familiar, like something I had seen in an advertisement. But who was I kidding, that would be ridiculous ... right?

Product Placement: Free Exercise Healthcare Offer

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The girls in the locker room snickered behind her back as Janet pulled off her gym shirt. They didn't have to shower before class (thank God!) but everyone needed to change out of their sweaty gym clothes. Janet always felt like an outsider and didn't have many friends in her class. It was partially to do with her tomboyish features: tall, lanky, flat-chested, a little bit muscular; but also because she preferred "guy" things to "girl" things. She was the youngest in her family and her twin older brothers let her tag along with their friends growing up. They were always skateboarding, riding dirt bikes, wrestling, or getting into trouble. It was a great childhood, but that all changed in late middle school. Her brothers where in high school now and their friends thought it was weird to hang out with a middle-school girl. And so she was left on her own. Now a junior in high school, Janet was isolated and lonely. She heard someone laughing nearby and tried not to look up. They were around the corner of a row of lockers, but she overheard anyway (that was probably the point anyway...)

"...such a freak. I mean, did you see her in the weight room..." "...what girl bench presses that much..." "...a girl with a dick, that's who!"

Janet tried to fight back tears as the laughter continued. She didn't have a dick, of course. She was a woman, but sometimes wondered if maybe she was transgender. She liked guys, not only because she could relate to them better, but because she was attracted to their bodies. Was that why she liked lifting? Was it because she wanted to be a man?

The laughing continued.

"Bitches..." Janet whispered under her breath. That was a mistake, because the laughter stopped. She would pay for that later, she was sure of it. These girls were your typical high school "mean girls" and she was an easy target for them.

"Hey Janet," one them called out. "The boy's locker room is on the other side!"

"Yeah, you must have wandered in here by mistake," said another girl.

They walked formed a circle around her and laughed. Janet grabbed her gym bag and ran out of the locker room before they saw her crying. She was so worried they were following her, that she sped up. As she turned the corner, she ran headfirst into a group of guys coming in from the gym and tripped. One of the guys caught her as she fell. His name was Cody, the captain of the basketball team and one of the tallest, fittest, guys at her high school.

"Sorry..." Janet mumbled.

"Dude, it's fine," Cody answered.

His basketball jersey was damp with sweat and the smell of his body odor mixed with deodorant and body spray was musty and raw.

"Hey, I know you," he added. "You're Davey's little sis, right?"

Her older brother David had played basketball, so they probably were on the same team at some point in high school.

"Yeah, that's me" she added as she grabbed her bag and tried to leave the conversation.

"Woah, dude, why don't you play. You'd be great," he said. His kindness made his face look even more attractive. But Janet saw that the girls were leaving the locker room, so she didn't answer and snuck out of the gym to the parking lot.

At home, she kept thinking about what she had overheard that day. It left her feeling empty and confused. Her parent's were gone that night, so she spent the night playing video games online. She was a big fan of games that were by no means "girly." It started with games like "Halo," "Borderlands" "Call of Duty", but she was a huge fan of "Gears of War." She always seemed to identity with the hyper-masculine heroes of the games, with their strong muscles, heavy guns, and no bullshit attitudes. Even when there was an option to build a female character in a video game, she almost always made herself the biggest, tankiest, brute, and played melee style.

That night, she was playing with random guys all over the world. It was commonplace for them to either not care about her gender, or just assume she was a guy. Though some might say that was sexist, she didn't care. She just wanted to be one of the guys anyway.

That night, she had a strange dream. It started as a scene from the video game earlier that day. Her squad was clearing out a bunker, but it transformed into her high school locker room. There she was, standing in the middle of the guys locker room. She saw a group of guys showering, there wet asses covered in soap and their hair matted down on their faces. She saw Cody, his calves round, his thighs thick, and his muscled bubble butt. She felt uncomfortable, but no one seemed to notice her. She started to back away when she heard someone shout out, "Look guys, Janet's got a cock!"

She stared down at her crotch and saw that she had a massive boner sticking out from her naked body. She heard echoes of laughter from all sides, but couldn't escape the dream. All around her were shadowy figures taunting her.

"Be strong. Be yourself. Fight. You have to fight. You have the strength. Fight through. Be strong."

Her hands curled into fists and she felt a primal, almost orgasmic rage, rise within her. When she lifted up her arms, she saw that they were ripped with muscle and covered in tattoos. Her chest and abs were chiseled and she felt taller. She took the stance of a fighter and landed a punch on one of the shadowy beings. She let out a grunt of satisfaction and turned to swing her hand across the jaw of another shadow.

"Good. You are a fighter. You are stronger than them. You must fight."

The fighting continued until all the shadows were gone. She let out a shout and pumped her fists together. Suddenly, the dream ended and she jumped up in her bed.

She turned on the lamp next to her bed and saw that she was back in her normal body. Her heartbeat was racing, but she knew it was just a dream. Probably caused by playing video games too late at night. She turned the light off and tried to go back to bed.

The next day at school, Janet figured there would be bullying. But she wasn't prepared for what she found on her locker. Someone had cut out a picture of her head and taped it onto a bodybuilder. Written across the top was "Roid Janet" and "Tranny Janny" (both new ones to her). She tore down the picture and walked away from her locker. She knew everyone was watching her, so instead of just hiding in the bathroom, she actually went and sat in her car. She pounded her fists on the steering wheel and thought to herself, "Why do I have to be a girl..."

Just then, she heard a voice in her head start to talk. "You are not a girl. You are a man. You are a fighter. You can become what you want. You choose to become strong. You choose to become a man. You choose to stop being Janet. When you become a man, Janet no longer exists. No one will know who Janet is. You will become a new person. A new man."

The voice grew louder in her head and she just laid back in her seat and let the voice put her into a deep trance. In this trance she felt strong, she felt powerful. At one point, it felt like she was having an orgasm, but it was different than anything she had felt before. But before she climaxed, it went away and the trance faded. She didn't want the teachers looking for her, so she back inside. But everyone was shuffling the halls as usual. What was strange was that no one made eye contact with her. This wasn't completely out of place, but it felt different somehow. She went back to her locker, but the combination she tried didn't open.

She banged her hand on the door, but no one stopped and looked. She stood in the middle of the hall and felt invisible. A nerdy kid that she had never seen before walked over to "her" locker and opened it. He took off his hoodie and hung it up on one of the hooks. It looked like all of her books and pictures were gone. On the intercom, she heard an announcement:

"A reminder to all students that the assembly with celebrity fighter and trainer Andy Hunt will start in the gym at 9:00 AM." She walked down the hall and passed the group of girls that bullied her staring at a poster. They were giggling about a shirtless man that was flexing. It was a poster for the special assembly. "OMG, he is SO sexy," they said casually. These girls paid no attention to Janet, even she was standing right next to him. Something about this man's body seemed familiar, like something she had seen in a dream.

Suddenly, her phone vibrated. She pulled it out of her pocket and answered.

"Who is this?" said the voice on the other side.

"Janet, who are you?"

"Don't worry Janet. You are going to be fine. Just listen carefully."

"What! Who is this?"

"That doesn't matter. All that matters is who you are. Who you are becoming. Go to the locker room by 9:00. Andy needs his phone."

"Andy? Who is Andy? What's going on."

The caller hung up and she saw that the screen of her phone looked different. The time was 8:55. She had no idea what was happening, but saw that the halls were emptying out as everyone gathered in the gym.

She followed carefully, but the phone in her hand kept pinging with messages and text.

"Where r u, Andy?"

"Andy, you have less than 5"

When she entered the room, she saw a crew of cameramen and people waiting for the assembly to start.

"Andy, thank God you're here!" said a short thin man with a bald spot.

"I'm not Andy," Janet wanted to say, but the man was dragging her by the wrist.

"Just wait in the locker room until your cue, alright!"

As Janet walked down the hallway, she started to feel dizzy. She turned right, but the man laughed.

"Wrong way, Andy -- the men's room is that way" he said, pointing down the hallway on the left.

"Men's room, but, I ... uh ... what is going ..."

Janet turned down the hallway and walked through the door into the boy's locker room. It felt like dream. The room seemed steamy and Janet started taking off her clothes. As she stripped, she heard the voice again.

"Andy, you are so close. You are ready. Look at yourself Andy. You are strong. You are popular. You are an inspiration. You can be the man you want. You can inspire others to greatness. Look at yourself Andy."

Janet turned toward a mirror and saw the face of Andy Hunt staring back. This was the face of the man she always dreamed of being. His eyes were dark. He had a beard and styled hair. His bulging arms were tattooed. His chest strong, with only a little hair between his pecs. His abs were perfect and below was a forest of dark hair and a massive towering cock.

"Let go Andy. Allow yourself to let go."

Janet took the massive cock and stroked it back and forth. With every invigorating stroke, her mind emptied and she allowed herself to drift away. The sensation of being this man in the mirror took control. Andy wanted this, so Andy kept going. With a few thrust, Andy sprayed come into the sink and felt a wave of relaxation wash over him. Usually, he wouldn't do this before a show, but today felt different. He cleared his throat and spat into the sink. Outside, he heard people chanting his name.

Andy walked over to a bench and pulled out his underwear and the track suit and fitness wear with the words "Andy Hunt: Trainer" printed on them. He saw his luggage for the rest of the tour.

As the crowd chanted his name, Andy took the stage as high energy music played. He dropped down and did twenty push ups in rhythm as they cheered. He walked over to the microphone and greeted the group.

"Hello! Hello!"

Over the course of his show, he encouraged everyone in the room to commit to being themselves, to become strong, to stand up for what they believed, to transform their lives. Afterward, he took selfies with adoring fans, gave them advice, and signed their notebooks. He posted some of the pictures on his massively popular Instagram and Twitter pages. Tomorrow, he would train a local gym to stay fit, but then continue the tour. His message was empowering and he wanted everyone to feel like they had the power to make their dreams a reality.

Product Placement: Wet Dreams

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Rick sat in front of his computer screen, quietly clicking through pictures of shirtless guys on the internet. He cautiously listened to make sure not of the other guys in his apartment were awake. He lived with two other guys that he had been friends with in college, and since graduation they had all been sharing a small apartment. Jim was getting married in a few months, so he spent a lot of time at his girlfriend's (now fiancee) house and wasn't home tonight. Connor worked late night's at a 24-hour gas station and wouldn't be home for hours. In either case, Rick was being cautious.

He locked the door to his room, which was shared with Connor, just in case. Over the last few months, Rick had noticed that he was craving porn more than usual. It was becoming an addiction. What was worse is that he had always thought he was straight, but found that gay porn was more appealing. There was something about how unashamed, passionate, and direct the men in the pictures and videos were towards one another. He unbuttoned his jeans and caressed his crotch as he clicked through pictures of shirtless bodybuilders, athletes, and models. He clicked on a picture of a hairy, muscular man that looked like he was taking a shower. Suddenly, his speakers were blaring rock music and an advertisement.

"MAN UP!!! (heavy rock music) YOU LOOK LIKE A MAN! (pictures of muscular man flexing) YOU THINK LIKE A MAN! (pictures of men watching sports) YOU WORK LIKE A MAN! (pictures of men lifting construction supplies) SO MAKE SURE YOU SMELL LIKE A MAN! (pictures of men lathering themselves with body wash)

Rick desperately tried to click out of the ad or mute his computer, but nothing seemed to work. He couldn't stop watching this pop-up video, and the more he watched, the less he tried stopping.

"SO MAN UP!!! AND SHOWER LIKE A MAN!!!"

As Rick watched the video, he could almost smell the strong musky scent of a sweaty man after a long day of work. He could smell the ripe body odor of a locker room. As the men showered in the video, he felt all of his worries slip away and felt relaxed and comfortable. He was still erect from before the ad and his cock swelled and released a stream of cum all over his shirt and pants. He wanted to stop the video, wipe up his mess, and go to bed before anyone came home, but the video had started a loop of a man in bright red underwear, rubbing himself down as water poured down from a shower head. The man was muscular and hairy, and looked sexy and confused as he showered. Rick settled in and felt refreshed and relaxed -- the smell of clean, fragrant body wash filled his nostrils and replaced the stench from before. He lost all sense of time.

A knock came at the door.

"Hey, Rick, the door is locked!"

Rick's trance ended and he noticed that the video had stopped. He slammed his computer screen and looked at the clock. It was 3:30 AM!!!

"Sorry, dude!" he said as he scrambled towards the door. He realized that his pants were still unzipped and that sticky cum had dried on his shirt and pants! He took off his jeans and threw them on a pile of clothes, quickly grabbing a pair of gym shorts. He opened the door and apologized to Connor.

"Must've forgot to unlock after I changed clothes..." Rick muttered, knowing that it was a lame excuse.

"Whatever ... it's no problem," said Connor as he walked over to his desk. "Just wondered why you were sleeping with the lights on and the door locked ..."

"Yeah ... sorry," replied Rick. The conversation was awkward enough, so Rick ended it by walking over to his bed and slipping under the covers. He tried to remember how he had fallen asleep in front of his computer, but couldn't quite come up with a reason. In any case, he was exhausted and drifted off to sleep.

--

Connor was fast asleep when Rick's alarm went off the following morning at 7:30 AM. Rick was still groggy from last night, but knew that Jim would wake him up if they missed their morning run at 8:00 AM. Rick and Jim had been good friends for years, and with Rick as one of the groomsmen for Jim's wedding, this was important bonding time for the two of them. Rick quietly grabbed his running shirt and went to the kitchen, where Jim was brewing coffee for when they got back.

"You ready?" Jim asked. "A little tired, but I'll wake up," Rick replied. They opened the door and Rick almost tripped a small package in their hallway. It was a small white cardboard box with action-font letters that said "MAN UP!" and was addressed to Rick.

"Looks like you got a package," said Jim as he stretched out before they ran. Rick opened it up and saw that it was a red plastic bottle that was some kind of body wash or shampoo. There was a not saying "Try a free sample of MAN UP! body wash! SMELL LIKE A MAN!" Rick set it on the kitchen counter and closed the apartment door, ready to go for a run.

As they ran, Jim and Rick didn't talk, but on their way back, they decided to walk so they chatted a little about the wedding, their work, and anything else to fill the silence of the morning. Sweat had soaked Rick's shirt and he seemed more tired than usual.

"You sure you don't need to stop or something," asked Jim.

"Nah, I'm alright," Rick lied. He actually felt a little sick and it seemed like his body odor was stronger than usual. "Let's just go home, I'm fine." Rick started to jog, feeling light headed but pushing through the pain and the odor. When he got home, he headed straight for the shower, because he had to get read for work and didn't want to miss his bus.

The bathroom door was open and it looked like Connor had recently used the shower because the mirror was still steamed up.

"You go first," said Jim.

Rick hopped in the shower and turned on the water, thankful to get out of his smelly running clothes. He reached for his shampoo bottle and saw that it was empty.

"Shit," he said to himself. He saw another bottle on the shower's shelf -- the bottle of body wash from the strange package this morning. It looked like it had been used. Connor was always stealing their stuff, which is probably why he had run out of shampoo faster than he could buy it at the grocery store. He cursed to himself and grabbed the bottle.

The smell was noxious at first and smelled like an old gym bag, but eventually it softened into a mellow, manly scent. Rick felt the water streaming down him and relaxed as he breathed in the smell deeply. He remembered having this feeling before and a image of a toned, muscular man was projected in his mind. He rubbed his body with the lather and felt a chill combined with the heat of the rushing water. He lost track of time as his thoughts wandered.

Someone banged on the door -- it was Jim shouting "You'll miss your bus!"

He opened his eyes and realized that he had been in the shower for far too long. He also realized that his cock was fully erect -- something he'd have to hide in the towel. He quickly dried himself off and hurried to the bedroom. Connor was standing by his desk, wearing only his underwear and eating a bowl of cereal. He looked taller than usual and seemed to have a hairy chest than Rick remembered, but he was too busy to say anything. Plus, it is a little awkward to comment about your roommate's body when you are both half-naked. Rick looked at Connor expecting him to give him a little privacy as changed. He walked past him into the kitchen. Rick grabbed his jeans from the pile of clothes, and realizing that they were the cum-covered ones from last night, cursed as he buried them in the pile and grabbed new ones from the drawer. He zipped up his pants, which felt thinner at the waist (probably from the running!) and buttoned his shirt, which was tight on his biceps and chest. His jeans seemed a little short than usual as he tied his shoes, but he had no time to change again or he would miss his bus completely. He said goodbye to his roommates, first to Jim, who was taking off his shirt in the bathroom, and then to Connor, who stood in the kitchen examining the hair in his armpits.

--

Rick rushed onto his bus and took a seat next to an older woman. After a few minutes on the bus, he could tell that she felt really uncomfortable. Her face seemed turned up in disgust whenever Rick adjusted his posture. Then Rick realized what she was so disturbed by -- his stench! The smell of body odor seemed to pour off of him. He reached past her and pulled the cord for the next stop. The woman recoiled as more of his scent wafted over her. He was still four blocks away, but was so embarrassed that he needed to get off the bus. Once on the sidewalk, Rick realized that his clothes were much tighter than he remembered. After walking for a block, he realized that his shirt was soaked again and that he felt physically exhausted. It was like every muscle of his body was aching and burned in pain. He felt like he needed to throw up, so he walked into the nearest store and asked for the bathroom. The barista at the coffee shop he barged into looked disgusted and pointed him to the back. He splashed some water on his face and realized that his beard had grown thick and full. He hadn't shaved that morning, but it looked like a beard that had taken a month to fill in. He unbuttoned his shirt because it was uncomfortable tight and pulled out his phone to call his boss. He explained that he would be late to work, but every moment he felt worse. He called Jim, hoping that he could get a ride home so he could clean up and start the day over.

"Yeah, I feel like shit" "Can you pick me up?" "I'm at that coffee shop a few blocks away" "Thanks, I owe you!"

Rick pulled off his shirt, leaving just his tank top on as he walked back through the coffee shop to the street. His muscles looked bigger and he felt taller too. But, there was a stench that made everyone in the coffee shop look away. He sat on the curb, taking off his shoes because they didn't fit, though that contributed even more to the smell.

Jim pulled up in a few minutes, "Get in!" he said as he rolled down the window. The car smelled fresh and clean, and Rick noticed that Jim's hair was still wet. It smelled like the body wash that he had used this morning and that made Rick feel more relaxed.

"What happened to you?" Jim asked.

"I don't know, man. I left the apartment just fine, but on the bus I felt sick, and then I got all sweaty, and then my beard look weird ..."

"Well, I feel a little off too ... not sure why?" Jim answered. "And Connor went back to sleep ... maybe we all got food poisoning or something!"

Rick tried to answer, but the smell of the body wash in Jim's car made him just sit back and relax.

When they made it back to the apartment, they found Connor standing in the bathroom with the door open. He was staring at his reflection in the mirror.

"Guys, what's happening to me?" he said as he looked at his gorilla-like muscular body covered in dark black hairs. "I don't feel the same."

"I don't know, but we feel the same," said Jim. He walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. He took off his shirt and saw that reddish-blonde hairs covered his chest. His beard was thick and scraggly and he had the body of some Viking warrior. Rick followed him into the bathroom, drawn by the steam and the smell of being clean. He finished undressing and saw that his muscular body was covered in thick brown hair. On his shoulder was a tattoo and his cock seemed to bulge out of his underwear.

"I'm going to take a shower," Rick said in a monotone voice.

"Me too," said Jim and Connor in unison.

They all stepped into the shower and took turns standing under the water, lathering each other methodically as there new bodies glistened and rippled. After a few minutes, the bottle of bodywash was empty and then stood there staring blankly at their reflections in the mirror. In the sound of the water, they heard a voice chanting, "YOU LOOK LIKE MEN! YOU THINK LIKE MEN!"

Rhythmically, then chanted along as they stroked each other's cocks and made out in the bathroom, spraying water, cum, and soap everywhere. They drifted off into a deep trance ...

--

Rick woke up in this room, naked on the floor. Lying next to him was Connor, whose hairy arms were wrapped around him. After a moment of panic, he remembered how he had taken a shower ... and Connor was there ... and so was Jim ... and they ... well, I guess he never realized that he and his roommates were THAT into each other. Rick slowly stood up, noticing that he his cock was stiff with morning wood. Or, maybe it was that he was aroused by the muscular, hairy, man lying in their room. He had always hated Connor, who was a terrible roommate, but now he looked at him and was entranced. He watched him breathe and imagined kissing him or sucking his cock. Connor grunted in his sleep and shifted his weight. As he rolled over on the floor, Rick smelled his manly, musky scent and sighed in ecstasy. It was intoxicating. Rick lifted his massive arms and smelled that his armpits matched the strong odor. He heard noises in the kitchen and went out to see that Jim was washing dishes -- completely naked.

"Dude, what happened last night?" he asked, his blonde-red beard chiseled from his cropped hair. "I mean ... look at us!" Rick looked at Jim's bulging muscular body, which was covered in thick hair and dotted with patches of tattoos. "When did I get these tattoos? And look at you!" Jim added, nodding at Rick's massive erect cock and balls. "That's new!" They both laughed.

There was a moment of awkward silence, which Rick finally broke by quietly saying.

"Jim ... I think I'm gay..."

After a pause, Jim walked over and embraced his roommate. "I love you man!" he said, but added "As a brother!" They both smiled. "After last night, I figured I'm probably bi-sexual, but I can't wait to call Kim! She's gonna freak when she sees me ... but the wedding is totally on!"

As Jim walked back towards the kitchen, Rick could smell the fresh scent of bodywash drifting in from the bathroom.

"I'm gonna take a shower," Rick said.

He looked himself over in the mirror -- entranced by his massive body and masculinity. He loved himself and was hornier than ever thinking about how he would use this "curse"! He stepped into the shower and felt the trance of the water mixing with the smell of the bodywash as all of his impurities melted away. He poured the last drop of liquid from the "MAN UP" onto his hands and rubbed it over his chest and down to his hairy crotch. His mind started to feel numb as his passions changed. He lived for his new image and wanted to fuck as many guys as possible - starting with Connor, and maybe Jim if he wanted, he imagined his life of living as a MAN -- someone who lives for pleasure, for danger, for every drop of life. After drying himself off, he stepped into the living room, where he saw Connor standing naked with a bowl of cereal by the kitchen corner. He walked over, dropped his towel, and in an animal passion, fucked him on the kitchen counter as the smell of his bodywash and Connor's unwashed ass mixed with dark roast coffee, cinnamon, and vanilla.

Product Placement: Subway Sleeper

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Connor picked up his backpack and walked towards turnstyles of the subway station, hearing a screeching train pulling into the station. He pulled up the hood of his jacket and waited in line. As a student, he had a school sponsored pass, so he swiped his transit card, but it received an error message.

"Card invalid."

The people behind him started shouting, so Connor stepped out of line and waited for the attendant.

When the line was gone again, he tried the card again.

"Card invalid."

"You a student?" said the attendant.

"Yeah," muttered Connor.

"Alright, follow me," the driver said handing him a sheet of paper. "Fill this out ... don't miss your train."

He grabbed the paper and filled out his information. The attendant let him through, handed him a ticket, and Connor slumped onto one of the benches and waited for his train. He curled up inside his hoodie, hoping that no one would notice, considering that he was embarrassed enough by the ticketing machine rejecting his student card. He was tired from a long day at school. Today, had started out rough and had only gotten worse. Connor was a senior, but had always been sort of an outcast in his school. Some of the guys on the basketball team liked to bully him because he had quit the team his freshman year. He hated sports, and only played because his dad forced him too. But after the coach, the players, and his disappointed father came to realize that being tall doesn't make you good at basketball, they let him go his own way. But he struggled to make friends after that, and sort of just drifted through high school until now, when he only had less than a year before graduating. Connor yawned and checked his phone, "The train should be here any minute," he thought. He put his phone in his pocket and felt his eyelids close.

After a few minutes, Connor shook awake when a train rushed into the station.

"Shit!" he said, not knowing he had slept for only a few seconds or minutes! The train's doors opened and Connor saw the number and destination of the train just in time to run inside as the doors zipped shut. The train started to move and suddenly Connor felt that something was wrong -- he had left his backpack on the bench!

"Fuck!" he shouted, but he knew the train wouldn't stop for him. The train was mostly empty, but the few passengers in this car were staring at him. "What are you staring at?" he shouted, ignoring their stares. But as he walked towards an empty seat, he saw in the reflection of the glass windows that we wasn't wearing a shirt. His first thought was that he was somehow still dreaming. Any second, he would wake up and board the real train, with his backpack, his shirt, and his sanity. But the longer he stared, the more the dream became a reality. His shirt was missing, but instead of the scrawny arms and thin chest, he started to notice bulges of muscle building on his once lanky frame. His biceps and pecs filled out and his abs became defined. It looked like he was aging rapidly too. Even as a senior, Connor's chest was mostly hairless and he never had to shave his face. But the man in the reflection was covered in hair, and soon a large beard spread across his jaw. A few small tattoos darkened his skin and one of his ears looked like it was pierced. His muscles continued to throb and his once loose fitting jeans filled in with powerful legs and sexy ass. He looked like he was in his twenties, probably after college, but wondered if he was just hallucinating or dreaming. The train stopped and Connor decided he better get off and figure out how to get back to the last station. One of the people entering the train looked at him, and to his surprise, Connor cheekily said to him, "Fuck off, mate!" in a New Zealand sounding accent.

Connor stormed off the platform, ignoring the stares and glares of the other people in the station. He walked over to a booth and shouted at the woman behind the glass "What you lookin' at?"

"Nothing, sir," she said.

"Right. Well, I need to get my pack from the last station."

"Oh ... actually we have one left here. Is this it?"

"What? No that's impossible ... " Connor protested, until he noticed that the backpack looked exactly like his from home.

"It came with this ID," she said, handing Connor a wallet. He checked his reflection in the mirror, and the photo matched the grizzly, attractive face. Connor grabbed the bag looking for his books, but instead it was filled with workout clothes and a t-shirt. He pulled the t-shirt over his head and it fit snugly over his toned chest and shoulders. He walked towards the escalator, wondering where he was supposed to be going, but his mind relaxed as he emerged on street level. He slung the backpack over his shoulder, completely at ease.

Ostello della Moda: Eduardo

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John hadn't heard from any of his friends in Italy for the last 24 hours. The last thing he got was a text from Luke, saying "Last flight to Milan!" but that was yesterday afternoon. "See ya soon Johnny-boy." In college, he had gone by Johnny, even though his name was John. He hoped that the lack of communication was because they were having too much fun to post any pictures or send a reminder e-mail. He hoped everything would work itself out.

It was around 3:00 PM when he showed up at the "Ostello della Moda." He was exhausted. He went to the front desk and gave his name.

"Sorry, sir. No reservation under that name."

He gave the names of his friends, no luck. "No reservation," the man repeated. He wasn't the one that made the arrangements, so there must have been a mistake. He sat down at a table and tried to text his friends. After a few minutes, still nothing. He went back to the front desk.

"No one checked in under the names Walter, Dylan, Tyler, or Luke. No one?" he said, a little irritated by the whole situation.

"No reservation. We don't have any rooms left," the man said, trying to be polite, but failing.

He checked his phone again. Still no response. He was stranded. What would he do? Should he find another hostel? Should he get a hotel? Would he ever get in touch with his friends. There were people behind him in line, so he stepped out of line for a second to think and let the person behind him pass. He was a muscular man with short wavy hair, a thin mustache, stubble, and a tight bro-tank. He chatted rapidly with the man behind the desk and handed him some towels and supplies in exchange for some paperwork. Suddenly, he looked straight at John and then fired off some rapid Italian questions. They talked together and John felt like they were discussing him. The man walked over and said, "You are John?" in a thick accent. "Yes ... I mean ... sì," John answered. "Antonio," he said introducing himself. "We have open bed ... uh ... I checkout ... apartment next door ..." his English was not very clear. I turned to the man behind the desk for help. "He has an apartment in the building next door. He comes here often." They nodded. I considered my options. "You stay free," Antonio said. "Show you," he added.

I followed him outside and passed a storefront selling what looked like Italian hip-hop fashion. We walked inside and Antonio greeted the owner of the store as we walked up a flight of stairs. "Some work here. We live here," he said opening a door at the top of the stairs. Inside was a small apartment with a couch, a few chairs, and an entertainment center. There was a small kitchen and bathroom and a room with bunk beds along one wall. The most noticeable feature of the room was the clothes. There were boxes of clothes everywhere. Most of them looked like the kind sold in the store beneath them. In the bunk room there was a small weight set and a treadmill. Antonio pointed to one of the bunks. "Empty. For you," he said.

Suddenly, he heard voices in the living room and Antonio left. John followed him cautiously. Antonio greeted the two guys that had walked into the room and introduced them. "John ... here is Bruno and Christofano." They conversed in Italian, and the only thing that John could understand was that they were saying the name Edoardo a lot. He wanted to ask, but he mainly wanted to sleep and try to call his friends to connect about the hostel fiasco. Bruno jumped onto the couch and turned on the TV, finding a football game. Christofano and Antonio were discussing something in the kitchen, which left John to awkwardly slink back to the bunk room and try to process this nightmare that he was in. The room was stifling hot, but he wanted to sleep, so he laid down on the bunk bed and closed his eyes. The bunk was already covered in sheets and blankets, but he felt something lumpy underneath him. He reach and pulled out a blue baseball hat from between the sheets. It smelled strongly of cologne, and had a musky scent that seemed to come from the mattress and bed. This bed belonged to someone, it wasn't just an empty bed. He hoped that Antonio wasn't putting him in an awkward position if their roommate came back and found some random American guy sleeping there. He threw the hat onto the floor and laid back in the bunk trying to relax. He breathed in the hot stale air of the room and could here the guys in the other room shouting at the TV as they watched the game. He checked his phone again, but no one replied to his texts. Some vacation.

He drifted off to sleep.

--

He woke up a few hours later and was covered in sweat. The room had grown hotter and his t-shirt was drenched. He wanted to take off his shirt, but felt that would be gross for whoever else used this bunk. Instead, he walked into the living room, hoping that someone was around to help him. He was also really hungry. Everyone was gone, but there was a note on the table next to a plate of food and a can of beer. "For John. Help yourself!" He took the plate of pizza and beer and walked over to the couch. He ate it and checked his phone again. The battery had died. He finished the food and beer and tried to find his charger in the room. But when, looked for his bag, he couldn't find it. His bag was gone and all of his clothes. Then he saw a drawer open on one of the dressers. Inside was a phone charger and some other hygiene products. "For John." There was also the blue hat that he had found earlier. He grabbed the charger and plugged in his phone. The charger was different than the one he had brought, but it was compatible with the Italian outlet, so he decided to use it. When his phone finally turned on, the main screen and the default language was Italian. It looked like he had received a few text message replies. There was a message from Antonio, all in Italian. A few from Bruno. Someone had replied to a message from Christo whose name was Edoardo -- was this even his phone? Was this one of there other roommates. He was so confused and worried that all of his stuff had been stolen. He started to feel sick and needed to go to the bathroom. After he relieved himself, he stumbled back to the bunk and found a towel, some shampoo, and a pair of red underwear waiting for him. Again, the blue hat had been placed on the bed. He felt sweaty and dirty. He hadn't showered since the plane and that nap hadn't helped. He grabbed the pile of stuff and found the shower.

He stripped down and stepped into the warm stream. It felt good. The shampoo and body wash smelled clean and inviting -- they reminded him of the smell of his bunk in the bedroom. He relaxed and let the water wash away the stress of this doomed vacation. Suddenly, he heard his phone ringing. He turned off the shower, grabbed the towel, and raced to the counter of the bathroom.

"Hello?" he said.

The voice answered in rapid Italian.

"Who is this?" he said. He tried to listen, and oddly every few words he started to understand. Casually walked over to his stack of clothes and dressed as he listened. The phone cut out and he set it down and looked up into the mirror. The first thing he was was the blue hat. He was wearing it. He followed it down and realized he didn't recognize the face in the mirror. It was a dark, swarthy, face of an Italian man. He had also absent-mindedly put on a pair of tight red underwear, which accented his slim waist, and hairy pleasure trail that covered a rock-hard set of abs and chiseled torso. There was a knock on the door.

"Edoardo, è che tu?" said the voice.

"Sì, solo un momento," he rattled off without thinking. He dried himself in the towel and opened the door. He instantly recognized the man as Diego, which was odd because he didn't think he had been introduced. But, Diego didn't seem to care and continued saying that he needed to take a shit and that if Edoardo would be so kind as to leave! They joked and he left him in the bathroom. He walked to his room and felt an odd sense of recognition as he laid down on the bunk. He felt comfortable and relaxed. He put on some more clothes and knew that tonight he was working in a show with Christo in the fashion district. He texted him to confirm the time. A few minutes later, Antonio and Bruno returned with food for supper. They asked if they had met "John from America." He said no. Antonio shrugged his shoulders and said "He must have found his friends. Glad you're back, Edoardo! Or you would have had to sleep on the couch!" Edoardo punched him in the arm and they all laughed. It would have been fun to meet this John person, but somehow he felt that he had met him somehow. In any case, he was home now and was glad to be living the dream with his roommates!

Ostello della Moda: Diego

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Luke slid the last cigarette out of the pack and lit it up within a few seconds of stepping outside the brightly lit airport into the dark, hot Milanese night. Local time was 2:30 A.M., but he needed a cigarette so badly! The airline industry makes smoking so difficult and he needed his fix. He inhaled deeply and thought about his girlfriend back home. Well ... his ex-girlfriend. Part of the reason for their breakup was his smoking. That, combined with her desire to get married and started on a perfect American life, made Luke somewhat glad that he was free. This was going to be the trip of a lifetime!

He inhaled deeply and wondered if he could get a taxi to take him to the "Ostello della moda." They said they had 24-hour check-in. His friends were probably catching up, maybe headed out for a night on the town without him. But, he would catch up. He was the real party-animal of the group and always had been. He remembered those days in college when he would come back to the apartment completely hammered and they still took him in and helped him get to bed. He missed that -- he missed his friends.

He tossed the cigarette onto the concrete and walked towards a waiting taxi. He would need another pack in the morning, even though he was going to try and cut back on this trip. He wanted to quit, but habits don't die easily. "Last one until tomorrow night," he vowed.

The taxi wasn't air-conditioned and he tried to get comfortable. The cab smelled like smoke -- which made Luke even more anxious as the taxi bounced it's way towards the city because he could few the craving grow again -- especially when the driver lit up while driving. He didn't know enough Italian to ask him to stop, so he just inhaled it in and tried to relax. It took the cab about half an hour to make it to the hostel, and he tipped the man generously because he helped with the luggage.dn't

A sleepy young Italian man greeted him and asked him a few questions. "Uh...passport?" he said. "Right," Luke said as he reached into his bag. The zipper was halfway open and he pulled out a few things while digging for his passport. An opened pack of cigarettes fell onto the floor. Luke picked them up in astonishment. He was positive that the pack was empty. Plus, this was clearly an Italian brand that he was unfamiliar about.

"Sir...passport?" said the man. "Oh ... yeah. Here it is," he replied, wondering if maybe the taxi driver had left them there.

"You can smoke in the courtyard," said the man looking at the pack of cigarettes in Luke's hand.

"Oh, I wasn't ... I mean ... thanks."

"I need to make copy. Please, relax. I will return."

The young man walked into a back office and left Luke alone in the room. The courtyard looked empty and he didn't see any of his friends around. The cigarettes seemed to radiate energy and he knew it wouldn't go away until he smoked. He nervously walked to the courtyard, pulled out his lighter, and puffed away. The smell was different than the cab driver's brand. It felt comfortable. It felt like he had smoked these for years. On one of the drags, he brushed his hand against his chin and felt stubble. He could have sworn that he shaved before he left on this trip and he shouldn't have stubble yet. He also felt a burning on his left shoulder, like tingling needles. He put out the spent cigarette and spat into the bushes. On his way back inside he saw a bathroom and raced inside. He felt sweaty and sick, like his whole body was writhing. He pulled his shirt away and saw a dark black and red patch on his shoulder. His face looked different too. He pulled off his t-shirt and looked in the mirror. On his left shoulder and chest there was a large tattoo. His body looked slim and athletic, much more muscular than he remembered. He managed to put his shirt back on, but it was tight against his body and uncomfortable. His head was flooded with the high from the cigarette, but he managed to find the front desk again.

"Ah," said the man handing him his backpack. "Room 234, Bunk D, Diego." When he said the name "Diego," something clicked inside him. He felt a wawdve of recognition, including a mastery of the language, flooding into his brain. It was as if the chemicals in the cigarette had opened up an entirely new person inside him. As he climbed the stairs, he felt less and less like Luke and more like Diego. When he opened his back pack in the room, he pulled out a tight leather jacket, slim black pants, a pair of sunglasses, and dog-tags that had "Diego" printed on them. As he looked out the window at the dim morning light, he wondered if Bruno, Christo, and Antonio would be coming back soon. He walked over to the window and lit up another cigarette. He shivered slightly, and noticed a vein running along his bicep and the moon carve shadows on his tight abs. He stared out at the street letting the smoke fill his lungs, and with a deep breath, he exhaled the rest of his former life into the dark of night.

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!

Ostello della Moda: Antonio

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Walter climbed out of the stairs of the metro and squinted at the bright Milanese sunshine. He had been planning this trip with some friends for several months and was finally excited to begin backpacking through the Mediterranean. He was meeting his friends at a nearby hostel called "Ostello della moda" because they were all flying in separately. But once, they were all there, the real vacation would begin. They wanted to start in Milan, than off to Turin, through Tuscany, Florence, Rome, Naples, and if they had time, they might backtrack and go to Spain or Greece. Except for a few reservations, most of their trip would be planned as they went.

Walter walked past store fronts selling men's clothing. The fashions were brightly colored, trim and lean, and a blend of leisure and luxury. Toned men with beautiful men stared back from the images. He saw his reflection in the glass, with his backback pulling against his flabby man-boobs, and his untucked shirt with pit stains, and his undershirt and pants struggling to contain his bulging belly. He was wearing shorts and saw how pale his skin was. He kept walking and started to breathe heavily as the sun beat down on him. He wiped his forehead and wondered if his pale skin would get sunburnt this early in the trip. He walked past a group of young people chatting happily in Italian. They ignored him. Walter told himself that he would have to learn to love Italy. It was beautiful, but he just wondered how he would ever fit in. He looked like a tourist and knew almost know Italian.

He walked past more shops and restaurants and then finally saw the hostel. He rang the doorbell and the door opened with a short buzz. He stepped inside and saw that he was in a dining room filled with guests and with Italian pop music playing from the bar.

"Ciao!" said an athletic Italian man with a tight polo and tattoos on his tan forearms. The confused look that Walter returned indicated that he didn't understand Italian, so he continued in English. "Welcome ... checking in?"

"Yes," said Walter hoarsely. "Walter ... um ... it's under a friend's name..."

"Si, si" replied the man. "I am Nico. Please, set down your bag. Do you have your passport?" he asked.

"Yeah ... um ... it's in here." Walter fumbled through his bag and pulled out his American passport.

"Okay," Nico said. "I make scan and bring papers, you sit. Beer? Wine?"

"What?" Walter asked.

"Do you want beer or wine? It is included in the included. And food too. Please, relax, eat."

Walter's stomach growled at the mention of food, so he left his bags at the front desk and found the buffet line. He loaded up on some delicious looking pasta, appetizers, and little squares of pizza. He sat down and the bartender brought him tall glass of beer. Everyone in the bar was watching a soccer match on the TV, which Walter was glad of, because he didn't want anyone to take notice of him. After a few minutes, Nico came back with a few sheets of paper.

"Okay," he said, "Your room is ready. Just fill out and sign." Walter nodded. "And here is name tag," said Nico, handing him one of those stickers. "Antonio?" Walter said, "But my name is ..."

Nico interrupted, "For fun. Italian name for when you are here. Also, WIFI username."

"Oh," said Walter. He was confused but decided to just roll with whatever policies they had to any avoid trouble. He peeled off the sticker and placed it on his shirt.

The paper forms asked for him to write in his "Italian" name, some contact info, and then the terms and conditions. It was written in Italian, and he tried to translate it, but failed to understand some of the paragraphs. He was staying in Room 234, Bunk A -- hence "Antonio." He assumed that his friends were staying in the same room, but there was no mention of them. He was the first to arrive, and was going to meet with Dylan and Tyler tonight, then pickup John and Neil in the morning from the train station.

He signed the papers and finished his beer. It was such a relaxed environment and the atmosphere (and alcohol) seemed to help him relax. He went up and got some more food and tried to connect to the WIFI. He typed in the user name into the WIFI security. It seemed to work, so he texted Dylan and Tyler, asking where they were. He got no answer back. He decided he wanted to check out the room, so he grabbed his backpack and went up to the room. The elevator wasn't working, so he dragged himself up the steps, which started to make him feel light-headed. When he finally made it to the room, he was sweating and panting. In side the room along the left wall were five bunks, labelled A,B,C,D, and E. It looked like bunk C was taken, which was strange because he thought that he would be the first here. He looked at the luggage and it looked like maybe it could be someone from his group, but didn't want to dig through someone else's stuff. He tossed his bag on his bunk and immediately felt drowsy.

"Probably the beer," he said as he walked towards the bathroom. The room was hot and humid, and he felt like his head was swimming. He felt sick to his stomach and dived towards the toilet. He started to throw up, which made him feel better. After a minute or two of emptying himself, he noticed that body seemed tense and shaky. He pulled off his shirt and he felt thinner and lighter. His chest was covered in dark hairs, which were normally light brown like his hair. He walked over to the mirror and saw that his hair had darkened and that his chin had short stubble. He ran to his bag outside, still half-naked to look for his towel and some clothes -- he needed to take a shower after all this sweating. Maybe he was hallucinating and needed to shower and sleep. He opened his bag and pulled out some clothes on top.

"What the fuck?" he said. There was some bright colored tank tops, tight shorts, colored slacks, and accessories in his bag. "These aren't my clothes?" But he had no time to worry about that. He grabbed a few things and felt his gut writhe in pain as he ran back to the bathroom. He wondered if he would throw up again. But instead, his stomach tightened into a six-pack of abs. His arms and torso tensed up and he saw biceps and pecs emerge. He took off his shorts and underwear and saw that his legs and crotch had lost their flabbiness. He turned on the shower and lathered up, using some fragrant shower gel that was by the sink. The water relaxed him, and as it flowed over his body, it felt like his old body was being eroded away and replaced with the lean and swarthy body of someone completely new. He stepped out of the shower and dried off. He slipped on a pair of tight red shorts and a designer tank top. He heard the door to his room open and walked out.

"Hi," said a chubby man with blonde hair, "I'm Dylan ... I mean ... 'Bruno,'" he corrected as he pointed to his name tag.

"Ciao! Antonio," he replied without hesitation. He continued in broken English. "Eh, welcome to room ... eh, I go out ... eh ... downstairs?"

"Sure," said Dylan. "Have you seen someone named Walter?"

"Ooh-alter?" replied Antonio. "No." He grabbed his phone and walked out of the door to give Dylan some privacy. He checked his messages on the stairs. He had texted "I am here at the hostel. Where are you two?" "Is this Walter?" Dylan had replied. "Just arrived," he added. He had another message from someone that used Tyler's cell number, "Room 234, Bunk C -- Cristofano." He reached the bottom of the stairs and saw someone familiar at the bar.

"Cristo!" Antonio shouted as he gave the man a hug. They chatted rapidly in Italian, as if they had known each other for years.

Trash

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Spring break was almost over. After spending a few days at home with my family, it was time to head back to campus and finish out the year. I was an above average student -- not a complete nerd, but not stupid. In high school, I had always been smart but never really fit in. I didn't try very hard. College was liberating! I made friends that shared my interests and was going to graduate with a journalism degree.

I parked my car and headed towards my apartment. A few dirty snowbanks dotted the streets and the trash from last winter made everything look dirty. Most of the apartments in this area were rented by college kids who didn't really take care of their houses. In one front yard, I saw an old white "wife-beater" shirt scattered around empty beer bottles and red solo cups. The shirt was a little muddy, but otherwise in perfect condition. I figured some jock forgot about it one drunken night or basketball game.

Most people would describe me as a hipster. I often shopped at vintage stores and thrift shops for clothes. This abandoned shirt was a little gross, but if washed a few times would be perfectly wearable this summer. I was a skinny little white boy, but in the right weather, I could pull off a wife beater look like this.

I grabbed the shirt and kept walking, thinking nothing of it.

--

When I made it to my apartment, I tossed the shirt on my bed and unpacked my things. I didn't have much to do that day so I figured it might be a good idea to clean my apartment. I moved a few things around and decided to try on the shirt.

"It's still dirty … but, I'll be sweating anyway and take a shower later," I thought to myself. "Might as well try it on to see if it fits."

I unbuttoned my shirt, stripped down, and pulled the white shirt over my head. Looking down, I noticed how pale my skinny body was. With my skinny jeans, styled hair, and thick rim glasses, the look worked in my opinion. I continued cleaning.

With a minute or two, I noticed a strange taste in my mouth -- a combination of tobacco and stale beer. I had never been a smoker, but suddenly could smell cigarette smoke in my room.

"Must be the neighbors," I thought. But the taste grew stronger. I lifted up my shirt, realizing the smell was in the clothes. When I lifted up my arm, a new odor filled the room, a pungent manly scent seemed to pour out of my armpits, which were knotted with black hair. Instinctively, I scratched away an itch and lifted my fingers to my nose. My hands smelled like sweat and smoke. My fingers grazed my chin and I noticed that dark stubble was covering my jaw and cheeks.

I walked over to the bathroom to see if I was just imagining something. In the mirror, I saw that stubble had formed an even five-o-clock shadow. Between the two straps of the shirt, dark hairs started sprouting even though for years I could never grow chest hair. I felt a sharp pain on my right shoulder and grabbed my arm in pain. When I pulled it away, the skin was swollen and red, revealing a new tattoo on my bicep.

"What is happening," I thought to myself. I tried to pull the shirt off, but it was like it was stuck to my skin. After a minute of struggling with the shirt, I realized how thirsty I was becoming. I opened the refrigerator and cracked open a beer. Strangely, the entire bottom shelf was filled with cans and bottle.

"That's strange," I said out loud. "I never bought these!" But, I was so thirsty that I drained the beer in a few seconds and grabbed a second, then a third. The alcohol started to hit me and I staggered back into the bathroom. The shirt still wouldn't move, but the booze made me a little less worried. I looked at myself in the mirror and noticed that I had put on about twenty pounds of weight. My narrow chest had thickened with two firm pecs and tight abs. Massive shoulders and thick biceps replaced my skinny arms. Even my neck seemed thick with muscle. Before, the shirt hung loose on my body, but now it pressed against my body snugly.

Seeing my upper body bulge with muscle, I realized that my pants were uncomfortably tight. I was wearing a pair of skinny black jeans, but my things and calves were starting to ache. To my relief, I was able to unbutton my pants, but when I tried to pull them down, I noticed that they were not the jeans I remember putting on that morning. The waist line had grown, the cut was loose fitting, and the color was a dark blue. I pulled them down to my knees and realized that I was wearing a different pair of boxers too. Satisfied with these new, more comfortable, clothes, I pulled them back up and buttoned them.

When I looked in the mirror again, I was puzzled by the face looking back. "When did I get a hair cut?" I asked myself, rubbing my cropped black hair. Thick, dark eyebrows furrowed in confusion and combined with the dumb look in my eyes, I realized that I was slowly losing my memory.

"It's just the alcohol," I told myself. "People are always stupider when they drink." But when I walked back into my room, I couldn't remember what I was doing five minutes ago. I opened a dresser drawer and found shirts I couldn't remember ever buying, but looked like they would fit me perfectly. I found a pair of brown steel-toe work boots, a pocket knife, a lighter, a pack of cigarettes. When I saw the package of cigs, my body practically lurched with a craving to light up.

"Don't see why not," I told myself. But deep inside my mind, I remember that I had never liked smoking and that this urge was completely foreign to me.

The smoke filled my lungs and nostrils, and with every breath I felt more and more relaxed. Each puff of smoke was like a cloud of memories leaving me forever, being replaced by new ones. Through the haze, my room seemed to change as well. A baseball cap appeared on the dresser, a poster of a truck covered in mud above my bed, my shelf of college books erased from existence in the same way that my hard earned knowledge was gone from my mind. I walked out onto a small balcony to finish smoking and left the smoldering butt on the railing.

On my bed, I saw a blue shirt stained with grease and oil. The embroidered name patch said "Keith." When I put the shirt on, it was like stepping into a completely new identity. Years of experience working with engines in a mechanic's garage washed over me. I found a pair of keys in one of the pockets. When I stepped outside, a black and chrome motorcycle was parked next to the building. I turned the key and raced off for a day of working, completely unaware that I had never ridden this bike before.

They say that one man's trash is another man's treasure. But in my case, one man's trash transformed me forever into a completely different man. There was no way of turning back, for all I knew, this had always been my life.