Chapter 1

“Hey, Conor!” Chet Delameter called out to his friend as he sidled up to Percy Craven, the newest member of the rowing team. “Take a selfie of us, huh? I’ll post it on Insta with the caption, ‘Alpha stud and beta nerd’!”

“It’s not a selfie if someone else takes it,” Conor grumbled but nonetheless pulled out his phone and waited as Chet slung an arm over Percy’s shoulders. Thrusting his jaw outward, Chet flexed a bicep and pulled a face while the other boy stood there stone-faced.

After Conor had snapped a few pics, Chet slapped Percy on the back and pushed him away, saying, “Go lift er sumthin’, Pussyboy! Ya got a long way to go before yer as big and manly as me!”

The younger guy scowled and stalked off, rubbing his shoulders where Chet’s arm had been. Chet couldn’t help laughing anew at how scrawny and pathetic Percy was. The orange and black rowing unisuit that clung so perfectly to Chet’s pumped physique hung listlessly off the boy’s slight frame. His bare, bony shoulders were covered in angry welts of acne and his greasy, red hair was pushed behind two of the biggest ears that Chet had ever seen. Percy was the epitome of a gangly nerd and Chet said as much to Conor.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Conor replied, chewing his lower lip thoughtfully, “I think he’s kind of hot. Too bad he’s not gay.”

Chet stopped, planting his oar in the gravel and staring at his rowing mate askance. “You gotta be joking,” he pronounced. “You’d really tap that?”

Conor shrugged his shoulders. He was slender and boyish in comparison to Chet with elegant eyebrows and perfectly-coiffed black hair. Clean-shaven and impeccably groomed, he was opposite to Chet in personality as well as physique: He was gay and Chet was straight; he preferred to dress in J. Crew to Chet’s Under Armour. He avoided using slang and composed text messages that were grammatically proper, never adding emojis or shortening words. The two guys were complementary in many ways, especially in the rowing shell where their friendship had been cemented after the coach paired them together a year ago. Their individual strengths blended to provide the perfect recipe for winning and together they had earned more trophies than the rest of the team combined.

Conor’s eyes narrowed as he watched Percy help the coach lift a shell boat off the trailer and carry it over to the dock where the rest of the team was waiting. Chet shivered when he saw his friend perk up when Percy squatted down to lower the shell into the water. The unisuit stretched tight against the nerdy guy’s boney ass, leaving nothing to the imagination. Chet didn’t need to be gay to know what Conor was thinking.

“You know me,” Conor drawled, a lascivious smile curving his lips. “I’m not one of those tops who runs after big bottoms.” He paused to drop his hand down and pat Chet on his Lycra-clad ass, concluding, “If I did, I’d have tapped yers a long time ago.”

“Stop it!” Chet growled, punching Conor on the arm. “That’s just gross!”

Conor pretended not to hear as he continued, “I like boys with asses so small I can still see their holes staring back at me when they clench their little buttocks…”

Chet exhaled in disgust, pushing Conor away and covering his ears. “Enough, you dirty faggot!” he complained. “Save it for your gay friends! I don’t wanna hear any more!”

Undeterred, Conor kept at him. “Oh, I’m saving ‘it’ alright,” he laughed, crouching down and rounding on Chet. “I’m saving ‘it’ for you!”

With that, Conor pounced on him, landing squarely on his back. Chet tried to fight him off but Conor’s sinewy legs were already locked around his waist and his strong arms were hugging him tightly around the neck. Chet’s eyes went wide when he felt something firm and significant drilling into his lower back and he bawled out like a startled bull. Conor laughed gleefully, driving against him harder and taunting him with all manner of insults to his masculinity. Chet did his best to dislodge his friend but it was no use; Conor was riding him like a rodeo cowboy.

“MR. WILLIAMS!” the coach’s deep voice bellowed out, echoing across the park and out across the misty river. “WOULD YOU PLEASE STOP TRYING TO IMPREGNATE MR. DELAMETER?”

This was greeted by snickers as the rest of the team’s heads swiveled in their direction. Chet’s cheeks flamed and Conor stiffened, abruptly dropping to the ground and acting chagrined as he picked up his discarded oars. He cast Chet a sly grin, though, when the coach wasn’t looking.

“Yer such an asshole,” Chet muttered, stalking off toward the river and trying to ignore the residual feeling of his friend’s package rubbing against the small of his back. Conor might be the perfect rowing mate and a super nice guy but he sometimes went, ahem, overboard in pushing his gay agenda.

***

Chet and Conor rowed without a coxswain that day (‘Coxless’ as Conor loved to say.) To punish his friend, Chet chose the seat at the bow of the shell even though he was heavier and the shell moved faster with him at the stern. There was no way he was going to reward his friend, though, with the sight of his backside as they grunted and strained, rowing against the current up to the low dam about a mile upstream. For his part, Conor didn’t object to the switch and gamely took a seat at the stern. Soon, they were working seamlessly together, easily leaving the rest of the team behind. Arriving at the dam, they enjoyed a nearly ten-minute respite before the next pair of rowers caught up to them.

It was a gorgeous autumn day, complete with a cool breeze and a cloudless, sapphire sky. The leaves were stained gold and crimson in the slanting rays of the afternoon sun. Chet forgot all about the humiliating incident at the boathouse as he joined Conor on a large rock overlooking the river. Droplets of mist from the torrents of water gushing over the dam cooled their bodies as they lay there, side by side, soaking up the warmth in a pool of sunlight.

“You know what?” Conor murmured after they’d lain in silence for a few moments.

“What?”

“I’ve got an idea,” his friend announced. “We should go as a couple to the team’s Halloween ball. We’d be a huge hit!”

Chet pushed up on his elbows and stared at Conor in disbelief. “Us? A couple?” he demanded. “Get the fuck outta here, bro!”

Conor cracked an eyelid, letting out a low chuckle. “I don’t mean a real couple, stupid! I know you don’t swing that way. I’m just suggesting that since neither of us has a date we might as well go together. And our costumes–”

“What about our costumes?” Chet interrupted. “I’m not goin’ dressed as anything fruity!” He was uneasy with this whole idea. What would the girls think if he showed up arm in arm with a faggot?

“We could figure out a satisfactory theme,” Conor cajoled. “One that we both can get behind.”

Chet pondered this for a moment. He wasn’t keen on the idea but Conor had a point: He didn’t have a girlfriend and couldn’t even think of anyone to ask. As much as it bothered him to admit it, he’d considered skipping the dance entirely to avoid the humiliation of going stag. While having Conor as his date was not appealing, it was the least worst option. Finally, he sighed, asking, “A theme? What sort of theme?”

“Hmmm, I dunno,” Conor mused, stretching his arms over his head and smiling. “Your ‘selfie’ with Percy got me thinking. What if we went as a dumb jock and a scrawny nerd?”

“Ha!” Chet snorted. “We both know who the jock would be.”

“Well, you are definitely dumb enough for the part,” Conor mused, earning an elbow in the ribs. “But I was thinking it would be fun to mix things up. What if I went as the jock and you as the nerd?”

“You? A jock? Yer nowhere near big or muscular enough!!” Chet protested, puffing out his chest. He was proud of the way his big pecs strained against the clingy fabric of his unisuit. “I’m the top dawg around here!”

“Oh, Ok,” Conor muttered, sitting up and rolling his eyes. “Go on, just keep telling yourself that. I’m serious, though. The Halloween dance isn’t for another month yet; that’s plenty of time for me to beef up. And plenty of time for you to diet. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt your weight-to-power ratio if you dropped a few pounds.”

“Hey!” Chet complained, pointing to his substantial gut. “This is pure muscle right here! Not an ounce of fat!”

Conor reached over to pat him fondly on the belly, saying, “Yes, of course, Chet. I wasn’t implying you were fat. A little too beefy maybe but certainly not fat.”

Chet pushed his hand away, only partially mollified. He hated to admit it but Conor was right; he could stand to slim down. Maybe going on a diet wasn’t such a bad idea after all? He really didn’t like the idea of dressing up like a nerd but it was just a costume and just for one night. What could it hurt?

“Alright,” he conceded, “I’ll consider it but I don’t want people thinking I’m gay or anything.”

“Oh, pish!” Conor said, flicking his wrist dismissively. “Everyone knows you’re straight, Chet. If anything, this’ll make your hetero ‘street cred’ go up. The girls love seeing straight guys being comfortable with their gay brothers these days. The perfect antidote to toxic masculinity, wouldn’t you say?”

Chet grunted in response, pushing himself up off the rock and extending his hand down to Conor. His friend accepted the proffered hand and allowed Chet to haul him to his feet. Dusting himself off, Conor looked down the river at the approaching shells, concluding, “It’s a deal then. In the meantime, I’m going to have a little chat with Percy and get some tips for your costume.”

Chet’s sharp retort turned into a bark of protest when Conor reached back and swatted him hard on the butt.

***

Chapter 2

Chet and Conor put their plans into motion over the next several days. Chet upped his cardio routine and cut back on the carbs and Conor increased his weight training regimen. After practice, Chet would jog on a treadmill at the college gym while Conor strained through extra sets of weights. The results weren’t dramatic at first but Chet did notice his paunch decreasing and Conor was pleased to note the increased size and definition of his muscles.

Even though the Halloween dance was still several weeks away, Conor convinced Chet to visit the local thrift store where he helped him pick out ill-fitting and unstylish clothes. Chet complained about the high-water pants, chunky shoes, and ugly oxford shirt (complete with a pocket protector), but Conor waved off his concerns.

“Come on, Chet,” he coaxed. “It’s just a costume. And personally, I think you’ve never looked better.” He plucked a pair of thick-rimmed glasses off a rack and perched them on Chet’s nose, adding, “You’ve been needing a fashion makeover for a long time.”

Chet scowled and was on the verge of making a rude retort when Conor gasped in delight and ran over to a nearby shelf full of used football gear. Pulling out a set of shoulder pads and a battered helmet, he donned them and commenced swaggering around the store. He did such a convincing job of moving and acting like a dumb jock that Chet had to suppress a chuckle.

“Wow, you’re a natural,” he commented when Conor sidled up him. “Who knew such a prissy little guy could move like that?”

Conor stuck out his tongue, replying, “It’s all in the hips. You’ve got to walk like your cock and balls are weighing you down.”

“Damn right,” Chet agreed. “Being a hung jock is a burden most guys don’t understand.”

Conor arched an eyebrow at this, muttering, “Oh, puh-leeze! I can’t  imagine how difficult it must be for you to be so hung! You poor thing!”

Chet smirked. He would never admit it publicly but his ample endowment was one of the reasons he loved rowing so much: The unisuit really set off his impressive bulge, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind that Chet Delameter was packing massive heat.

***

“It is cold in here or something?” Conor teased the next day when Chet strode into the showers. “And, wait! Did you convert to Judaism overnight?”

Chet halted, giving his friend a confused look as a couple of the guys standing at nearby stalls turned and snickered. He was bare-assed naked like usual, not one of those pussies who covered himself with a towel when he walked around the locker room.  And why should he cover himself? He had nothing to be ashamed of. He was hung like a fuckin’ stallion and loved to display his meat. He might be straight but that didn’t mean he didn’t like the attention.

Conor was lathering up his back, eyes glued to Chet’s crotch and a sly smile spreading across his face. Annoyed, Chet followed his friend’s gaze and did a double take when he realized his friend was right: His dick was looking unusually shrunken at that moment, probably due to the fact that he’d jumped in the river to cool off after practice. Even weirder, though, was the way his foreskin was pulling back from his cockhead. Chet was proud of the fact he was not only hung but also one of the few intact guys on the rowing team. He loved the way his long, tapering foreskin dangled off the tip of his dick. It made his fat cock look even bigger!

It certainly didn’t look big right then, though, shrunken up with his glans poking its head out of its foreskin sleeve. Chet resisted the urge to cover himself and was opening his mouth to utter a retort when he froze.

“Dude,” he demanded. “Is that tattoo real?”

Conor nonchalantly reached up to rub his bicep, saying, “Yeah, it’s real alright. Got it last night. Like it?”

Chet forgot all about his shrunken penis as he stared at the lurid tattoo scratched onto his friend’s arm. Conor–impeccably fashionable Conor Williams, the same Conor who routinely looked down his nose at the football jocks and their ‘hideous’ tattoos–had a big, ugly tattoo covering his entire upper arm.

Realizing his mouth was hanging open, Chet stammered, “It’s–It’s, a, well, it’s…” his voice trailed off before he finally managed to choke out, “What is it anyway?”

“It’s the Gadsden Flag, silly,” Conor teased, pointing at the design. “Do you need glasses? It’s a timber rattlesnake coiled to strike. The perfect tat for a big, dumb jock, dontcha think?”

Chet couldn’t stop staring at it. If he squinted, he could make out the body of a crudely-rendered snake inked in garish colors. The motto, ‘Don’t Tread On Me,’ was scrawled almost illegibly below.

“You got a tattoo for the Halloween dance?” Chet asked, eyes still locked on Conor’s arm. “What were you thinking? Tattoos are permanent!”

Conor was watching him with amusement clearly written across his face. When Chet finally tore his gaze away from the disgusting tattoo, he was startled to notice his friend had neglected to shave. His normally smooth cheeks were covered in black stubble. Even his eyebrows looked unkempt, bristling above his eyes like twin black caterpillars. If Conor didn’t take action soon, they would merge into a ‘unibrow.’

Beneath those furry brows, Conor’s grey-blue eyes danced as he flexed his bicep and admired the tattoo. “It’s just a tattoo,” he chided. “Ease up, bro.”

“‘Bro’?” Chet challenged. “Since when am I yer bro?”

Conor rolled his eyes and resumed lathering up, eventually turning his back on Chet in a clear dismissal. Chet stood there, clenching and unclenching his hands before finally stalking off into a stall on the far side of the room. Feeling heat creep up his shoulders, he shielded his shrunken member from view while tugging on it in a desperate attempt to restore its grandeur.

It didn’t work.

***

Chapter 3

His shrunken dick was still very much on his mind that evening when he got back to his dorm room. He made a beeline for the bathroom and locked himself inside, stripping out of his clothes and scowling when he saw that his dick was still just as small as it had been in the locker room. Worse, it retracted every time he stretched it out. He yanked on it until tears filled his eyes but as soon as he let go, it shrank back down to its former tiny size. Even his foreskin had shriveled and barely covered the ridge of his glans.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he cursed, staring down at his crotch in consternation. He was hung! Hung like a fucking bull! What the fuck had happened to him?

He was so worked up over his diminished size that it took him a moment to realize something else: Bright, fire-engine red hairs were curling around the base of his cock, standing out strikingly against the carpet of his dirt-brown pubes.

Brows knitting together in confusion, he was certain that the red hairs were fuzz that had rubbed off on his crotch but winced in pain when he plucked at them. The hair definitely belonged to him! But how could he have grown red hair? Was it a chemical reaction from the river water?

He bent over and studied the offending hair, realizing as he did so that there were far more of them than he’d realized: His pubes were laced with curly, flame-red hairs!

Chet was beside himself. What the fuck was going on? His only thought was to rid himself of the ugly red hair as fast as possible. He cast about frantically for his clippers and, finding them under the sink, hesitated only a moment before buzzing his crotch smooth. Not content to stop there, he scraped the hair off his chest, legs, ass, and armpits for good measure. Still not satisfied, he shaved off his beard for the first time in years. When the deed was done and the floor was covered with a mat of reddish brown hair, he turned back to regard himself in the mirror.

Only then did the full magnitude of his impulsive decision hit home.

He was completely devoid of hair from his face down to his toes!

Oh, fuck! What had he done?

Jaw dropping, he took in his altered form, unable to believe his eyes. He looked like a little boy! A really little boy! He’d heard somewhere that shaving your pubes was supposed to make your dick look bigger but, if anything, it appeared even smaller now that he was smooth. It stuck out like a slender knob, perched above his less-than-impressive nuts. His skin looked even paler than ever, almost porcelain white…with the unwelcome exception of the many dark brown moles dotting his body.

He looked down, chest heaving. Where had all the moles come from?

And, forget about the moles, what was going on with his muscles? Why did he look so thin and slight?

He froze, heart pounding against his ribcage, and forced himself to study his body. Slowly and methodically, he examined himself, gaze working slowly upward from his feet to his head. As he did so, cold dread built from within, starting in his chest and gradually radiating through his body. Soon, he was shivering so badly he couldn’t stop.

He didn’t recognize himself anymore.

Closing his eyes, he hugged his arms about himself, mind gibbering with fear. Rather than helping, though, this only made the trembling worse and soon he was shivering uncontrollably. In desperation, he got into the shower and doused his body with the hottest water he could stand. The bathroom filled with steam and he forced himself to take deep breaths until he relaxed.

It helped.

Somewhat.

As the rational part of his mind took hold once more, he realized that the last time he’d been this hairless was before the onset of puberty. He’d matured early for his age and had grown a generous coat of fur on his legs, crotch, and chest. By the time he was sixteen, he even had a full beard. It made sense that he wouldn’t recognize himself; it’d been a good eight or nine years since he’d been this bare.

As for his muscles…well, in his panicked state, he was probably imagining things. After he calmed down, everything would be normal again. Yeah, that was it! He was just overreacting. When he was a kid, his imagination had been so vivid that he’d once convinced himself the neighbors were vampires. He’d been afraid to leave the house at night for weeks until his mother explained the man and woman across the street worked the night shift at the local hospital and slept during the day. Even so, it had taken him a long time before he ventured outdoors after dark.

Chet laughed at himself, feeling stupid for being so excitable but then frowned when he looked back down at his ridiculously smooth and boyish body.

His smooth and boyish body covered in moles and acne.

Wait.

Acne?

Panic surging anew, he wiped the steam off the mirror and gasped when he registered the budding welts and pimples covering his forehead, cheeks, and neck. The pimples were small but there were a lot of them and they reached all the way down to his shoulders and upper chest.

And there was a huge zit on the tip of his nose.

Chet let out a strangled yelp as he dug through the drawers under the sink, searching for his supply of acne medicine. He exhaled in annoyance, though, when he discovered the little bottle of Clearasil buried in the back of the drawer was dried up. This was no surprise, really;  he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a zit.

He tried to make himself look away but couldn’t stop staring at his reflection. The sight of his face blossoming with angry red welts and whiteheads was enough to make him sick. It was a particularly hard blow for a guy who took his powers of attraction for granted. He was so used to turning heads wherever he went that he’d forgotten how to be self-conscious. He always knew that girls would look at him no matter what he had on. He was a hot jock after all!

Forced to take a long, clear-eyed look at himself, though, he felt that unshakeable confidence crumble and he suddenly knew what it was like to feel undesirable. As he gaped at his reflection, he had to admit the man/boy staring back at him was no stud. Shit, a stud? Ha! He wasn’t even particularly cute.

It was a wake-up call when he realized tears were filling his eyes. He blinked them away, angry at himself for being such a baby, and forced himself to take action. He knew what he needed to do: He was going to get dressed and go down to the corner drugstore and pick up some acne medication. When he got back, he was going to douse his body with the stuff. If the acne was still bad in the morning, he would make an appointment with the doctor and get a prescription for even stronger stuff. One way or another, he was going to beat this. Once his acne was under control and his body hair grew back, he would be a stud again.

A total fucking stud.

Yes, that was it!

He could beat this! It was only a small setback. He was still a big, tough jock who didn’t take shit from anyone. He was still…

Huh?

He froze when he looked at the floor and noticed his clothes had disappeared. He could’ve sworn he’d gotten undressed in the bathroom…but maybe he’d stripped in the dorm room and then gone into the bathroom? Yeah, that was probably it. That year he’d been lucky to land a single room (with a shared bathroom) and sometimes forgot about the dude in the suite adjacent to his. It wasn’t unusual for him to walk into the bathroom naked while the other guy was taking a leak. And, if he was being completely honest, he didn’t mind the attention. It was yet another opportunity to show off his big, fat dick. (So what if he was an exhibitionist?)

That must be what happened! He’d been so worked up about his mysteriously shrunken dick that he’d left his clothes in his room.

Wiping up the piles of hair from the floor, he tossed them in the trash and gave himself a last once-over before stalking out of the bathroom. Rather than being reassured, though, he felt a renewed stab of panic as he beheld his shaved and pimply body. He looked ganglier than ever! And his dick! Shit, his dick was little more than a button. He forced back tears and slammed the bathroom door behind him.

He needed to get dressed and stop looking at himself!

Unfortunately, getting dressed proved to be more difficult than he’d ever imagined.

As soon as he stepped into his dorm room, he knew something was wrong.

His discarded clothes–the clothes he’d been wearing all day until he walked into his dorm room–were nowhere to be found. He looked under the bed and behind the chair but there was no sign of them. Strangely, his wallet, keys, and iPhone were stacked on the corner of his desk. He paced over and picked them up, staring at them quizzically. He always kept them in the pocket of his jeans. He never took them out and certainly never left them out on his desk. Feeling increasingly creeped out, he looked over at the door to his room and saw it was closed.

This was too weird…

His body broke out in a cold sweat when he walked over and twisted the door handle.

It was locked.

But how…?

He shook his head. It didn’t matter. He would worry about his missing clothes later. Right now, he just needed to get dressed and get that acne medicine.

Sighing loudly through his nose, he opened his closet and pulled out a fresh pair of jeans. Or at least he thought he had grabbed a pair of jeans but soon discovered that he was holding the high-waisted nerd pants Conor had picked out for him at the thrift store a couple days ago.

Grimacing in distaste, he dropped them and grabbed another pair of jeans.

Only to find that he was holding another pair of khakis.

He flicked on the light inside the closet and stared in shock. The lower rack was filled with high-waisted khaki pants.

And the upper rack was filled with old-fashioned oxford shirts.

With pocket protectors.

Then he figured it out.

He finally figured it out.

His blood pressure spiked and his vision swam with red as he realized he was the victim of a prank. And not just anyone’s prank. No, he was the victim of Conor William’s twisted sense of humor. He gritted his teeth and chewed on his tongue, hating Conor with a passion. If the little faggot had been there in front of him, he would have rung his effeminate little neck! Well, the pathetic homo might not be in front of him at that moment but he wasn’t far away. Conor’s dorm room was at the end of the hallway, not more than fifteen suites away.

Chet had to reach out and steady himself as the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. Of course, Conor was behind this. There could be no other explanation! He had no idea how his erstwhile friend had managed to turn his hair red and cause him to break out in pimples (not to mention what he’d done to his cock) but the rest wasn’t too hard to figure out. He’d obviously sneaked into Chet’s room and removed his clothing, replacing everything with nerd-ware. The little fucker must have stolen his clothes off the bathroom floor when Chet was taking a shower.

Conor Williams was such a fucking asshole!

Chet clenched his jaw and swallowed bile, mind swirling with dark thoughts of revenge. He would make Conor pay for this but first he needed to get dressed. Walking on wooden legs, he lurched over to the dresser and pulled open the top drawer. His face went red when he saw what had become of his underwear. Conor had stolen his boxers and filled the drawer with tighty-whities. Tighty-whities from JC Penny.

He grimaced as he opened the remaining drawers. Scowling furiously, he reluctantly admitted that Conor had been very thorough. There wasn’t a scrap of Chet’s old clothing left. Even his rowing unisuit had been replaced with a boy-sized one. As much as it galled him, he had no choice but to don the hideously ugly and ill-fitting clothes and walk out in public dressed as a nerd.

The tips of his ears were burning with humiliation when he stepped out into the hall wearing high-water pants, mismatched argyle socks, sneakers, and oxford shirt that was two-sizes too big. The acne on his shoulders throbbed painfully against the coarse fabric of his shirt and the tighty-whities pinched his diminished junk. He kept his gaze firmly fixed on the carpet as he moved down the hall, walking faster and faster until he was running.

He didn’t bother knocking. He burst into Conor’s room, hands balled into fists and mouth opening to let loose an angry tirade. He had never felt so furious or betrayed. He couldn’t believe his friend would abuse him like this. A practical joke was one thing but sneaking into his room and stealing all of his clothes while he was naked in the shower was another. Conor Williams had crossed a line and Chet wasn’t about to let him go without punishment. Severe punishment.

***

Chapter 4

“JESUS FUCKIN’ CHRIST!” Conor barked when Chet burst through the door of his dorm room. “DIDN’T YOU SEE THE FUCKIN’ SOCK ON THE DOOR KNOB?”

Chet’s eyes went round at the unexpected sight of his friend splayed out naked on the bed before him. He frantically windmilled his arms in a desperate attempt to halt his momentum while Conor hastily threw a sheet over himself. Chet just barely managed to catch himself before tumbling ignominiously on top of his friend and stood there, embarrassed and uncertain. This was not at all how he expected this confrontation to go!

Conor lay there, rosy-cheeked and breathing heavily, iPad tossed aside and body only partially covered by the sheet. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he’d been doing just before Chet’s rude entry. The throbbing bulge of his erection was clearly outlined against the flimsy sheet and his chest, neck, and face were sprayed with globules of a telltale whitish liquid.

Conor glowered at him, bushy eyebrows drawn together in consternation. His grey-blue eyes softened, though, when he took in Chet’s nerdy attire. Slowly, a wry smile spread across his lips and he teased, “Uh, tryin’ on yer costume before the dance or sumthin’? If so, ya forgot yer bowtie and glasses.”

Chet flushed, embarrassment and shame vying for dominance in his beleaguered mind. He averted his gaze from his friend’s naked body, feeling an unfamiliar inadequacy welling up in his chest. He couldn’t believe how big and beefy Conor had become. His weight training regimen was really paying off! And then there was his voice. He sounded so different! The Conor he remembered spoke with an airy lilt, enunciating each word with precision. This new, guttural rumble was completely foreign. Chet almost felt like he didn’t recognize the big man lying before him.

“I-I-I,” he stammered, hating how thin and nasal his voice sounded in comparison to Conor’s. “I, uh, didn’t…”

His voice trailed off. When he looked back up from the floor and met Conor’s gaze, he gave a start. Conor’s teasing smile had disappeared and instead his friend’s eyes held only concern. Chet swallowed a lump in his throat. Somehow, it would have been easier if he’d been met with Conor’s usual flippant manner but this sincerity…this was unexpected and it threw him off. He tried and failed to regain the burning fury that had overwhelmed him just moments ago but it had evaporated and in its place was roiling confusion.

Conor watched him quietly before taking a deep breath and patting the mattress beside him. “C’mon, bud,” he urged. “Tell ol’ Conor what’s buggin’ ya. Sumthin’s clearly goin’ on.”

Chet looked from Conor to the bed and back again, asking in a small voice, “Could you, um, maybe clean up a bit first?”

His friend blinked and then looked down at himself, noticing as if for the first time the thick wads of cum splattered over his dense chest hair and dribbling down onto his furry belly. “Oh, yeah,” he muttered, wiping his hands across his face and chest. “Sorry ‘bout that, bud.” He then completely scandalized Chet by licking his fingers clean. When he was done, he smacked his lips and patted the cushion again, looking up at him expectantly.

“That’s just gross,” Chet pronounced, crossing his arms and refusing to budge.

“Hey, what can I say?” Conor said, shrugging his muscular shoulders. “I’m a guy.”

Chet stared at him, revulsion impelling him to point out,  “Guy’s don’t eat their own, er, ejaculate.”

“Heh, ‘ejaculate’?” Conor repeated, smiling. “That’s cute.”

For some reason, his patronizing tone triggered Chet’s ire and he remembered why he’d barged into Conor’s dorm room in the first place. Balling up his fists, he shouted, “Cut it out, you big asshole! I’m not cute! I’m an alpha jock and I don’t appreciate your deriving amusement at my expense.” He paused, gesticulating wildly at his nerdy clothing, all but shrieking, “And this! This is not appropriate! You cannot do this to me!”

Chet expected Conor to make fun of his high, nasal voice but he was caught off guard again when his friend’s brow furrowed. “Huh? Whaddaya mean?” he asked, clearly not understanding what Chet was implying. “I didn’t do anything to you. It was yer decision to try on yer costume.”

Chet studied his friends’ face closely, searching for any hint that might indicate Conor was bullshitting him but there was nothing but confusion and concern written across his features. Chet clenched and unclenched his hands, uncertainty flooding over him. Despite the weight of evidence tipping persuasively against Conor, Chet was beginning to think that maybe his friend wasn’t involved after all. But if not Conor, then who?

Finally, Conor helped him out by urging, “Tell me, Chester. Tell me what’s buggin’ ya.”

“It’s ‘Chet,’” Chester corrected. “My name is ‘Chet.’”

Conor rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Chester. Now tell me what’s up.”

Chester scowled at Conor’s continued use of his full name but it didn’t keep him from pouring out everything that had happened to him since he got back to the dorm. He didn’t leave out anything, even revealing his humiliating dick shrinkage, his impulsive decision to shave off all of his body hair, and the sudden appearance of acne sores all over his face and shoulders. Conor listened attentively, nodding at points and grunting with dismay at others. Chester expected him to laugh at him but he remained serious and didn’t interrupt. When he was finished, Conor was sitting there watching him closely, a tender expression on his handsome (if somewhat blocky) face.

After a long silence, he said finally, “Sounds like yer bein’ punk’d, dude.” When Chester opened his mouth to reply, Conor held up his hands, saying, “I know! I know! It doesn’t ‘splain everything that’s goin’ on with ya but there’s gotta be a log…uh, I mean, logi…logi…logi…”

“Logical?” Chester offered.

Conor’s face brightened. “Yeah, that word! Anyway, there’s gotta be a good reason why all this stuff is happenin’ to ya.”

“Indeed,” Chester muttered, shaking his head. He wasn’t used to being the one who had to do all the thinking; he usually relied on Conor for that.

This thought made him stop cold and he stared at Conor, examining his friend with fresh eyes. As he scrutinized him, he realized that he’d underestimated Conor’s size and hairiness. His friend’s body was replete with muscles and his face, chest, and legs (at least what Chester could see of them) were covered in thick, black hair. Conor was a total beast!

Chester shook his head, remembering his slender, slightly effeminate friend who tweezed his eyebrows and routinely used depilatory cream in the shower to rid himself of all traces of body hair. Conor’s mannerisms, fashion sense, and appearance were all diametrically opposed to the hunky jock who lay sprawled out on the bed before him.

And yet this man was clearly Conor. He had the same slatey eyes and solid features underneath his dense beard. Sure, his gaze wasn’t quite as sharp as the old Conor but this was definitely still the same guy.

“Um, Conor?” Chester began tentatively.

A big, goofy smile brightened Conor’s face as he replied, “Yeah?”

Chester cleared his throat, skin prickling. When he spoke, his voice was more nasal than ever and there was something else: He couldn’t get the words out without stuttering. “W-W-What is g-g-going on with us?” He pursed his lips, marveling at how much effort it had just taken for him to speak. What was going on with him?

He expected Conor to laugh at his stutter but he didn’t. Instead, he asked, “Whaddaya mean? I feel fine. Yer the one who’s havin’ all the problems.”

“No,” Chester insisted, shaking his head. “S-S-Something is wrong with us. W-W-We’re…different. We’re ch-ch-changing.”

“Changin’?”

“Yes, Conor,” Chester said emphatically. “L-L-Look at us!”

Conor’s thick eyebrows drew together as he puzzled over Chester’s words. He looked down at his thick, muscular, hairy body, over to Chester, and back again. Finally, he shook his head, saying slowly, “I’m not sure what ya mean. I’m the same as ever, bud. And you are, too.”

“No!” Chester exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “No, no, no! Y-Y-You are not supposed to this b-b-b-big! I’m the one who’s the j-j-jock! I’m not a…a…a…” He caught a glimpse of himself in Conor’s mirror then, grimacing when he saw how gangly, awkward, and ugly he looked. Even setting aside the pimples covering his cheeks, nose, and forehead, his face was different. Misshapen or something. Was it his teeth? His jaw? His ears? He shook his head, forcing his gaze away from his reflection. He couldn’t afford to get distracted right then. Taking a deep breath, he scream-stuttered, “I’m n-n-not a NERD!”

In response, Conor sighed and then, pulling the sheet aside, announced, “C’mon, bud. I know what ya need.”

Conor plopped his feet on the floor and straightened, towering over him. Chester opened his mouth but his voice died in his throat when he beheld the full grandeur of his friend’s body. He gaped up at him, mind reeling, as he realized Conor had grown at least a foot taller. Looming above him, Conor’s shoulders, arms and chest looked even more massive. The dude had to be close to seven feet tall!

And he was hung, too.

Like a fucking bull!

Chester swallowed uncomfortably when his gaze landed on the monster swinging between Conor’s legs. His cock was easily more than a foot long and fatter than a beer can. It dangled, still half hard from jacking off, swaying back and forth over a pair of the most massive testicles Chester had ever seen on a guy. His balls were so big and heavy, they hung down nearly to his knees.

Oblivious to Chester’s amazed scrutiny, Conor ambled over to his dresser and, pulling open the top drawer, reached in and grabbed a stained jockstrap. With his big, beefy ass barely inches from Chester’s face, he bent over and stepped into it. The manly fragrance wafting off his hairy body (and dirty jockstrap) was enough to make Chester’s head swim and he took a step backward, grabbing the dresser to keep from losing his balance.

Conor pulled on a pair of grey sweatpants that clung to his massive thighs, doing little to conceal that mammoth bulge, and then shrugged into a skintight tank top. He paused to slick his messy hair back and flex playfully in the mirror before turning to Chester and saying, “Ok, let’s go.”

“G-G-Go?” Chester stammered. “W-W-Where?”

In wordless answer, Conor dropped a heavy arm over his shoulder and guided him out the door.

***

Conor took him down to the 24-hour drugstore on the corner just outside the dorm and wandered the aisles, eventually finding the skin care section. Arms crossed, he studied the shelves while Chester stood awkwardly beside him, finally choosing several products off the shelf. He then led Chester to the cash register and pulled out his credit card.

“Here,” he said, thrusting the bag into Chester’s hands after the sale was complete. “Now let’s ya cleaned up.” With that, he placed a hand on his shoulder and walked him back to his dorm room.

Chester stood there numbly after Conor steered him into the bathroom. Holding his hand under the spray of the shower, his friend waited until the water was sufficiently warm and then gently removed Chester’s clothing. Folding his nerdy attire carefully in a stack on the sink, he rummaged through the plastic bag from the drugstore and pulled out a box of Neutrogena soap. He handed it to Chester who unwrapped it with shaking hands while Conor slowly undressed himself. When they were both naked, Conor stepped into the shower and held out his hand to Chester, wiggling his fingers.

Chester stared at his hand before robotically stepping into the stall. He allowed Conor push him backward into the warm spray and then closed his eyes while his friend caressed his body with the soap, moving with surprising tenderness for such a huge man. Even though he and Conor had showered together in the rustic locker room at the river innumerable times, he knew that this time was different. Guys did not shower together in their dorm room! Still, he was so overwhelmed by everything that he felt quite dissociated. He simply didn’t have it in him to resist. Besides, the soap felt good on his inflamed skin and Conor’s hands were so big and soft that he couldn’t help relaxing.

When he was clean, Conor rinsed himself off and then stepped out of the shower and held open a towel enticingly. Chester shivered, hesitating only a moment before letting his friend enfold him in the warm cloth. Soon, his body was dry and he was standing there, towel wrapped around his shoulders, while Conor bent over next to him, drying off his shaggy hair.

Chester remained quiet while Conor fastened the towel about his big waist and led him into the bedroom where he urged Chester onto the bed. Chester looked up at him, feeling incredibly small and insignificant. How could he refuse, though, when Conor smiled at him like that? He clambered onto the mattress and lay down on his stomach. He was vaguely aware of the crinkling of packaging in the background and gave a small start when Conor smoothed something cold and wet onto his back.

“Shhh,” his friend soothed, climbing up on the bed and planting his giant knees on either side of his waist. “It sez this cream’ll dry up yer acne. You just lie there and let ol’ Conor do the work. Kinda like when we’re rowin’.”

“Ha!” Chester laughed in spite of his nervousness. “You wish!”

He exhaled in a long sigh, though, when Conor commenced massaging his back. His friend’s hands might be huge but they were also incredibly nimble. In no time, he had Chester crying out in delight as he worked the lotion into his back. Delicious waves of euphoria spread through his body and he was lost in a delirious haze for what felt like hours. He was so intoxicated that he almost didn’t register the sensation of Conor’s hands moving down onto his buttocks but he definitely perked up when his buddy’s thick finger grazed his tight, little man-bud.

“Conor, what?” he started to protest but his voice was overtaken by a low moan as that finger, moistened no doubt with a generous glob of saliva, worked its way inside him.

“Is this Ok?” Conor asked, leaning down and pausing with his lips next to Chester’s ear. “I’ll stop if ya don’t wanna.” He wiggled his finger for effect, causing Chester’s eyes to roll back in his head.

“D-D-Don’t stop!” he begged, unable to believe what he was saying but as soon as he uttered the words, he knew they were true. He didn’t know how or why but he wanted Conor inside him.

All the way inside.

“Sorry,” Conor rumbled. “I didn’t mean ta but yer just fuckin’ hot. And that tiny ass of yers is just–”

“C-C-Conor,” Chester stuttered. “J-J-Just shut up and f-f-f-fuck me.”

And that’s what Conor did. Gently at first and then with increasing brutality as Chester lost all restraint and beseeched his friend to completely wreck his hole with that massive cock. There was a particular pleasure from being savaged by such a huge man, especially now that his own body was so small and slight. It was almost primal, this drive to be completely used and abused by a man who outweighed him by more than two hundred pounds.

By the time Conor exploded inside of him, he was bent over, chewing on the pillowcase with his bony ass sticking straight up in the air. Conor’s enormous pole was so deep inside him that he could see it bulge out from his hairless stomach with each thrust. The bedroom smelled like a barn and their bodies were a slick mess of cum, sweat, and acne cream as Conor’s juices filled his ass. He lay there panting while Conor folded on top of him, cradling his narrow hips in his big hands and pumping his seed deep inside. He then surprised Conor by pulling out with a loud squelch and lifting him up until Chester’s legs straddled his shoulders and his tiny nub was directly in front of Conor’s questing tongue.

Slurping noisily, he quickly worked Chester into a screaming climax. He almost didn’t care when his friend pulled back and stared at his crotch, declaring in a slurred voice, “Yer boi pussy is so hawt, dude!”

Vision swimming and head spinning, Chester looked down and smiled drunkenly when he saw that Conor wasn’t exaggerating: His cock had completely disappeared in its tiny nest of newly-grown, fire engine red pubes.

***

Chapter 5

Chester awoke cradled in Conor’s massive arms, spooning together on his bed. His buddy (boyfriend?!) was snoring loudly, mouth against his ear. Conor’s chest reverberated with each exhale, echoing through Chester’s ribcage. Rather than being put off by this, though, Chester realized he was happy. The happiest he’d been in years…despite the dull ache coming from, well, down there. He shook his head sleepily, unable to believe he’d been fucked up the ass by his gay friend, a gay friend who was now more than a friend. What was going on?

He opened his eyes and then gave a start, crying out in surprise. His outburst woke Conor who stirred, thrusting his rapidly hardening member into the cleft of Chester’s narrow buttocks. Chester, however, wasn’t in the mood.

“S-S-Stop!” he complained, pushing Conor away. “I can’t s-s-s-see! I’m g-g-going blind!”

Conor stopped thrusting but his giant cockhead remained poised against Chester’s butthole. Taking a deep breath, he sighed, “Yer not blind, bud. Ya just need yer glasses.”

“G-G-Glasses?” Chester queried, his voice high and tremulous. “B-B-But I don’t wear g-g-glasses!”

“Yeah, ya do,” Conor murmured, propping himself up on an elbow and reaching over to the dresser. “Here,” he said, holding something blurry in front of Chester’s face, “put these on.”

Chester managed to set his alarm aside long enough to take the object in his shaking hands. When touched it, he recognized it for what it was: The pair of glasses Conor had picked out for him at the thrift store when they were shopping for his Halloween dance costume. The ugly glasses had massive rims and a pair of the thickest lenses that Chester had ever seen. He’d intended to remove the lenses before the dance but as soon as he settled them on his face, he realized he couldn’t; he needed them to see!

He lay there, blinking. The glasses rested heavily on his nose and threatened to slide off at any moment. There was no denying one thing, though: They were the right prescription. The room had been so blurry before he put them on that he couldn’t see anything. Now, though, everything was relatively crisp and clear.

He took a shuddering breath and pushed the glasses up his nose, saying, “B-B-But I used to have p-p-perfect vision!”

Conor didn’t reply right away. When Chester turned to look at him, he saw that his friend was watching him with an affectionate smile on his face. “Yer so cute!” he rumbled finally, opening his big arms. “C’mere!”

Before Conor could pull him in for a hug, though, Chester noticed something and stopped him, saying, “W-W-W-Wait! Is that a new tattoo?”

Conor followed his gaze to his left bicep and smiled. “Yup, ain’t it kewl?” He reached down and rubbed it, beaming with pride. “I’m a Marshall State Bull through and through!”

Chester stared at the garish tattoo covering most of Conor’s upper arm. Like the snake on his right arm, this tattoo was crudely drawn but it was so huge that Chester had no trouble telling what it was: An anthropomorphized rampaging bull rendered in orange and black ink. Chester flushed when he realized that the bull was anatomically correct, sporting a long, fat cock and a swinging pair of balls between its massive, hooved legs. It held a football in its man-like hands, a shit-eating grin distorting its muzzle.

“T-T-That’s the football team’s mascot,” Chester pointed out after he recovered enough to close his open mouth. “B-B-But you’re not a f-f-football player!”

“I know that!” Conor snorted. “I was hangin’ out with some of th’ guys on the team and they talked me into gettin’ it. It’s pretty fuckin’ awesum, ain’t it?” He flexed his arm, making the bull’s cock jump jauntily upward in an instant erection. Chester’s cheeks reddened as Conor roared, “The big guy’s just like me, huh? ‘Cept I’m even bigger.”

With that, he was on top of Chester, pinning his legs over his head and positioning his giant cock directly over his quivering hole. Chester gasped as he felt his stretched-out pucker give way and soon Conor was pounding away inside him, ramming his rock-hard cock up the hilt, woolly pubes rubbing Chester’s taint raw with the relentless friction. It didn’t take long for Conor to cum. He arched his back and lifted his great head, bellowing like a mad bull as his hot semen jetted out, filling Chester to overflowing.

When he was done, he collapsed on top of him, gasping for breath as he nibbled Chester’s earlobe. Slowly, he worked a meaty hand down to Chester’s crotch and fingered his tiny cock. Chester didn’t need to see it to know that it had shrunk even further, retreating so far that Conor had to work his finger inside him several inches before he finally scored Chester’s buried glans. As humiliating as it was to know that he now had a pussy, Chester couldn’t help chirping with delight when Conor’s finger scored. His buddy’s touch was electric, sending him on a glorious ride of orgiastic bliss that culminated with Conor’s mouth covering his own to drown out his cries of ecstasy.

“Yer so fuggin’ hawt!” Conor breathed, lifting his mouth away. “And yer all mine!”

Chester stared up at him, realizing that his new glasses allowed him to register more of Conor’s changes. His friend’s features were heavier, thicker, and…dumber. With his big nose, wide mouth, sloping forehead and bushy eyebrows, he looked distinctly bovine. Not unlike the visage of the rampaging bull tattooed on his left bicep. It was difficult to recognize the old Conor but if Chester stared long enough, he could still see faint traces of his formerly effete friend. Conor was certainly nothing like his old self, though.

Not that this was all bad.

He couldn’t suppress a smile as he gazed upon the big, dumb jock who was currently smothering him under his massive bulk. Conor had to weigh more than three hundred pounds and sported a significant gut in addition to his bulging muscles. He looked (and felt) more like a football defensive lineman than a lithe and lean rower. Would Conor even be able to fit in a shell without sinking it?

He didn’t have time to wonder about this for long because Conor was already heaving his great bulk off of him and lowering his feet onto the floor. “Fuck!” he swore, looking over at his phone. “I’m gonna be late for class!”

Chester groaned. He’d completely forgotten that it was Wednesday morning and he, too, had class in a couple hours. The last thing he wanted was to go out in public wearing these glasses! Conor, however, wasn’t about to let him sulk in bed, though.

“Hey, bud,” he asked, holding his hand out to him. “Will ya come with me to my physics class and, ya know, help yer ol’ buddy out.”

Chester blinked, repeating, “‘H-h-h-help you out’? What do you mean?”

“I mean will ya come along with me and ‘splain the stuff the prof is talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Oh, I see,” Chester said, rolling his eyes as he reached out to take Conor’s meaty hand. “Sure, I’ll do it.”

The broad smile that brightened Conor’s face was enough to melt anyone’s heart and Chester, who was already on the verge of losing himself in the throes of love, was catapulted into the radiantly soporific bliss of infatuation. Conor was just such a fucking stud!

He was so transported by these new and overwhelming feelings of love for his friend that he didn’t even care that his poor, stretched-out hole hurt with every step or that Conor’s cum was drizzling down his tiny, hairless thighs. He almost didn’t even care when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over his dresser.

Almost.

Conor was rummaging around in the closet when Chester stopped and stared at himself, voice rising in a pathetic wail, “W-W-What hap-hap-happened to meeeeee?!” He was completely unable to comprehend how the gangly nerd with the bright red hair, bucked teeth, pimply face, and a beaky nose could possibly be him.

“Whaddaya mean?” Conor rumbled, not even bothering to turn around and look at him. “Yer the same as always, bud.”

Chester was too shocked to reply. He stood there, gaping at the nerd staring back at him in the mirror.

He had shrunk in size as well as weight. All of his formerly glorious muscles were gone and his arms and legs were mere sticks. His skin was pale and covered in moles and acne. His chest was concave and hairless and his hips stuck out like bony wings in front of him. The only hair on his body was the unruly shock of bristles on his head and the flaming red pubes on his crotch. He was knock-kneed and his duck-footed. And, of course, his cock–his big, hefty cock!–was completely gone. Looking at himself, he failed to distinguish the mound of his pubes from a girl’s pussy. There was no denying that he was homely to the point of ugliness. A caricature of a nerd. A ridiculously pathetic excuse for a man…or a boy.

As he stood there, paralyzed with horror and revulsion, Conor fished out some clothes and laid them out on the bed, saying, “Here ya go. Wear these. Yer hella sexy in ‘em.”

Chester forced his gaze away from the mirror and looked down at the attire his friend had selected for him.

High-water pants.

An orange plaid shirt.

A bright pink bowtie.

Rainbow-colored suspenders.

Mismatched argyle socks.

Oxblood wingtip shoes.

A pocket protector.

And…

“Hey!” he yelped. “Wh-wh-what are these? P-p-p-panties? I’m n-n-not wearing girl’s panties!”

With shaking hands, he reached down and plucked the sheer piece of fabric nestled against the folds of the khaki pants. Holding it up, he saw that he hadn’t been mistaken; they really were a pair of pink panties.

“Conor!” he shrieked, staring up at his giant friend in horror. “Why?”

The corner of Conor’s mouth lifted as he lay a heavy hand on Chester’s shoulder. “Just do it fer me, Ok?” As Chester fish-mouthed, he added, “‘Sides, ya ain’t nothin’ down there to support anyway.”

“That’s not true!” Chester protested. “I have a penis! A PENIS!”

“Uh huh,” Conor muttered, stepping closer and placing his hand over Chester’s little pubic mound. “Is that what ya call this?” He wriggled his huge finger into the little hole that Chester’s penis had retreated into, causing him to shiver with pleasure. “‘Cuz it sure feels like a pussy to me.”

“It’s n-n-n-not a pussy,” Chester complained but his voice lacked conviction.

“Whatever ya say, dude,” Conor said, guiding him into the bathroom where he repeated the previous evening’s ritual of showering off and treating Chester’s acne. He wouldn’t leave Chester alone until he consented to don the panties and the rest of the ridiculous getup. When they emerged from his dorm room, Chester Delameter’s nerd transformation was complete.

And so was Conor’s.

Conor had scandalized Chester by pulling on the same stained jockstrap from the night before and then squeezing into a pair of low-riding red shorts and a midriff-baring football jersey. When he was done, his hairy belly jutted out almost as far as his gigantic bulge. Chester’s eyes popped when he registered the monster threatening to bust out of Conor’s jockstrap. It was so huge and fat that it pulled the wide elastic waistband of the jock downward, exposing the thick base of his manhood and woolly pubes for all the world to see.

***

The walk across campus with Conor was eye-opening for poor Chester. Had it only been a day ago that heads would turn when he walked past? He’d been so accustomed to his place as a demigod in the hierarchy of men on campus that he took it for granted. Girls would go glassy-eyed and whisper to each other when he strutted by. Guys would watch him with barely concealed envy, torn between bitter feelings of competition and secret admiration of his prowess. Whatever their reasons, everyone noticed him.

Now that had changed. Oh, he still turned heads when he skittered past but instead of engendering awe, now he garnered only scorn and derision. Girls tittered with laughter and guys snickered. At best, he was an object of pity. At worst, he was the subject of abuse. Had it not been for Conor’s steady and confident presence beside him, he knew the jostling he endured would have been worse. As it was, though, he had to work hard to avoid being tripped and shoved aside and found the trek across campus quite harrowing.

For his part, Conor was completely oblivious to the way people treated Chester. He strolled along, head up and shoulders back, proudly holding Chester’s hand. A big, stupid grin split his face and there was a spring in his step. He may not have acknowledged the worshipful stares he received from men and women alike but he was certainly aware of them. With his enormous stature, rippling muscles, and honking cock, he was the epitome of alpha male supremacy and he reveled in it.

As much as he loved being with Conor, Chester also felt a certain bitterness toward his friend. As big and dumb as Conor was, he should have been an object of almost as much disdain as Chester was. His clothing choices alone should have disqualified him from the upper strata of public opinion. No guy should get away with having his cock spill out of his shorts like that! Add in his bovine features, tattoos and copious body hair and there was no reason to worship him.

Except there was.

For some inexplicable reason, Conor pulled it off. Anyone else would have been caricatured as an oversexed meathead but Conor made it work. He was greater than the sum of his parts, radiating a magnetic charm that instantly captured the attention and reverence of anyone in his orbit. Conor, Chester realized, was the butterfly image of himself: He was as grand and large and awe-inducing as Chester was awkward and diminished and cringe-worthy.

This both hurt and beguiled Chester. When he wasn’t obsessing over the sneers and smirks he received, he was walking on air, unable to believe his good fortune at being Conor’s chosen boy. He had no idea why but Conor had picked him when he could have landed any guy he wanted, gay or…not so gay.

It was almost amusing watching the reactions of the straight guys who walked past. Maybe it was because Conor embodied the ideal bro so completely, he blurred the lines between buddy and fuck buddy. After all, what guy wouldn’t want to be with a man he could get off with while watching the game on TV?

***

Accompanying Conor to his physics class turned out to be a waste of time. The big idiot was too thick-headed to understand the lecture and kept getting distracted. Chester tried to explain the lecture but all Conor cared about was fingering Chester’s butthole. He worked his meaty hand down the back of his pants and kept Chester squirming in his chair as he tickled his prostate. When he grabbed Chester’s hand and moved it inside his jockstrap, though, Chester drew the line.

“N-N-Not in class!” he hissed, looking around self-consciously. “Can’t you w-w-wait until later?”

“But I wanna fuck ya now,” Conor pleaded, a little too loudly. “I’m horny!”

“Later,” Chester stated, pulling his hand back and sitting up straighter. When this did nothing to dissuade Conor’s attention, he got up and left.

***

Life was different without Conor by his side and Chester soon learned how truly cruel people could be when you didn’t fit the mold of manliness. Making his way from class would have been challenging enough without the ridiculous attire that Conor had picked out for him but, dressed as he was, there was no fading into the background. He was tripped, elbowed, and shoved so many times he lost track. And then there were the comments. Sometimes the slurs were whispered but more often they were shouted. Men and women alike felt compelled to grind his self esteem into the dirt. By the time he was done with his final class for the afternoon, he was on the verge of tears.

He was picking himself up off the sidewalk after being tripped yet again when he heard a bunch of jocks carrying on nearby. He instinctively shrank away from the sound, having learned already that jocks were his natural enemies. Lower lip quivering, he pulled his backpack over his shoulder and had started to slink away when a familiar grunt caught his attention. He turned and looked over his shoulder, heart fluttering when he recognized Conor.

His friend was playing a game of tag football with a bunch of other guys. Conor stood out from the crowd, towering above the fray and looking resplendent in his skintight shorts and cropped football jersey. His broad, beefy shoulders offset his protruding gut, giving it proportion it would have otherwise lacked. Even on its own, though, his belly was mesmerizing, the softness of the fat balanced perfectly by the firm ridges of his abs. When Conor broke away from the others, football poised behind his ear and tatted bicep bulging, there was a look of focused concentration on his face that had been absent during his physics class. His jaw was set and his eyebrows were drawn together as he looked for an opening and then–SNAP!–he sent the ball rocketing across the lawn to his teammate. The dude jumped up and caught the pass, loping across the improvised end zone to score a touchdown. The assembled crowd erupted in wild cheering and Conor’s teammates hoisted him on their shoulders, guttural voices raised in a triumphant roar.

Chester stood awkwardly apart from the crowd, feeling a mixture of awe and envy. He was just about to turn and slink away when Conor spotted him.

“Yo, Chester!” he called out. “Wait!”

Chester’s heart leaped at the sound of his booming voice and he stopped, watching as Conor broke away from his adoring fans. Everything else seemed to disappear as Conor jogged over. The look of pride and happiness on his face was so vivid, Chester knew it was genuine. For the thousandth time that day, he wondered what it was about him that Conor found so appealing when the rest of the world (including Chester) saw only an ugly, scrawny nerd.

Conor caught him up in his arms and spun him around in the air a few times before placing him back down on his feet. As Chester stood there flushing beneath his acne sores, Conor rumbled, “What the fuck, dude? Did ya think ya could sneak away without givin’ me a kiss?”

Chester pushed his glasses up his nose and looked downward, at a loss for words. “I, uh, well, I…” He felt his neck grow warm in tandem with a spreading warmth…further down. He cringed with embarrassment when he realized his little pussy was getting wet and would have bollted if Conor hadn’t dropped a hand on his shoulder.

“Chester,” he warned in a low voice. “I won’t leave ya alone til ya kiss me.”

Looking around wildly, Chester realized the assembled football jocks were staring at him with crossed arms and unhappy expressions. It was clear from their body language that they couldn’t believe Conor would stoop so low as to be seen with a loser like him. He stared at the ground, wishing fervently that Conor would let him go.

He took a breath and was lifting his gaze when he noticed something about Conor. “H-h-h-hey,” he began in a high voice. “Is that another tattoo?”

Conor’s smile deepened as he looked down at his bare midriff. “Yep, got it after class this morning. You like?”

Chester blinked. The words, “RIDE THE BULL,” arced across Conor’s belly in bold, black-orange letters. In case the reader had any doubts about the implied meaning, the serifs of each letter had been rendered into arrows…and the tip of each arrow pointed unequivocally down toward Conor’s honking cock.

While Chester gaped, Conor took a step closer, waggling his crotch provocatively and entreating, “Well, whaddaya think? Wanna ride it? I’m horny as fuck right now!”

He might have phrased it like a question but there was no mistaking the command in his tone. Chester looked around wildly as he tried to pry himself out of Conor’s viselike grip. “H-h-h-here?!” he gasped. “We c-c-can’t f-f-f-fuck here!”

“Course not,” Conor said, taking Chester by the hand and leading him away. Chester was just starting to relax when his buddy added, “We’ll fuck over here behind this shrub.”

“C-C-CONOR!” Chester shrieked. “We can’t d-d-d-do–”

He never finished because Conor had already yanked him behind the shrub and pounced on him. It wasn’t long before he was butt-naked and Conor was treating him to the wildest ride of his life. When it was over, Chester wondered about the meaning of Conor’s new tattoo. He felt it was he who had just been ridden like a bronco and fucked to within an inch of his life.

***

Chapter 6

Conor did not show up for rowing practice that evening and Chester was left stranded, outcast and alone, as he waited in vain for his friend to appear. He had changed in a corner of the rustic locker room, stepping out of his clothes behind an improvised privacy screen. He did his best to ignore the taunts and jeers of his teammates but found his resistance waning as time dragged on and there was no sign of Conor.

After getting suited up, he stood forlornly back by the trailer with the rowing shells while the coach went over the drills with the rest of the team. He felt distinctly out of place among the buff specimens of manhood. His unisuit hung off of his boney frame, exaggerating his gauntness…and his lack of a bulge. He was ridiculous and knew it. Conor was the only reason he was there–The chance to bask in the glory of his friend’s affection once more!–but he was missing. Where could he be?

“Hey, Chester,” a deep voice called out behind him. “Conor quit the team. Looks like I’m yer new rowing partner.”

Chester spun around and found himself gaping up at one of the tallest, most beautiful men he’d ever seen. Standing nearly as tall as Conor, the guy’s lean form rippled with muscles. His quads bulged out from his side, stretching his orange and black unisuit to extremes. Their size and heft were exaggerated by his incredibly tiny waist…and huge chest. His arms, likewise loaded with muscles, stuck out from his sides, forced out there by his over-pumped lats. Even his neck was corded with muscles.

And then there was his face.

Full, pouty lips. A narrow, almost aquiline nose. Haughty, blue eyes. Arched eyebrows. Tousled hair. And a flawless, porcelain complexion. He was beyond handsome.

Leaning casually against an oar, his luscious lips curled in an almost feline smile as he watched Chester put the pieces of the puzzle together.

“Y-Y-You!” Chester stuttered, clenching his fists. “You s-s-s-stole my body!”

“Huh?” Percy Craven teased. “I dunno what yer talkin’ ‘bout.”

“Yes, y-y-you do!” Chester protested, hating how pathetically high his voice was. “You are meeee! G-g-g-give me b-b-b-back my body!”

Percy’s brows drew together in mock confusion. He opened his mouth to reply but before he said anything, he let his hand drop almost absently downward to his crotch. Distracted, Chester followed the motion and his eyes bugged out when he registered the immensity of the tumescence outlined down there: Percy Craven was gifted with a truly huge cock that almost rivaled Conor’s. It was, Chester knew from personal experience, just as big as his cock used to be before his ignominious transformation. He knew this because that cock–that very same cock!–used to belong to him. As crazy and impossible as this was, he nonetheless knew it was true. Percy had stolen his manhood!

Chester’s mouth fell open and he was momentarily paralyzed with shock. Percy took the opportunity to call out to Rick Hayes, one of their teammates. “Hey, Rick!” he bellowed. “C’mere and take a selfie of Chester and me.”

Rick turned, face splitting into a wolfish grin as he pulled out his iPhone. Before Chester could recover and pull away, Percy dropped a heavy arm over his narrow shoulders and posed while Rick snapped a few pics of them. When he was done, Percy examined the results with sadistic glee.

“Whaddaya think?” he asked, elbowing Rick slyly in the ribs. “I think I’ll post these on the team’s Instagram account with the title, ‘Alpha jock and pathetic nerd’.”

***

Chester returned to his dorm after a disastrous rowing practice. His body and ego alike were bruised and battered and it was all he could do to keep it together on the long trek across campus. He had to stop midway to hide behind a tree and sob. He couldn’t believe how awful his life had become. And it was all because of Percy Craven, or ‘The Crave’ as he now insisted on being called. Somehow Percy had done the impossible and robbed him of his body and turned him into a freakish nerd. How would he ever get his old body back?

He skipped dinner because the thought of showing his ugly face in the cafeteria was too much and went straight to his room. He intended to take a long, hot shower and bathe himself in acne medications and then go to bed. It was a thin hope but maybe when he awoke the next morning everything would be normal again?

His evening plans were shattered, however, when he pushed open the door to his dorm room and found Conor lying naked and aroused in his bed. His friend was massaging his giant cock, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. Chester goggled at the size of the behemoth. It looked even bigger, fatter, and longer than earlier. But how could that be?

“Yer here at last!” Conor grunted as a little spurt of cum shot out of his cock. “Get on top of me and ride the Bull!”

As tempted as Chester was to drop his suspenders and pull down his pants, his hurt and anger overrode such desires and he shouted, “C-C-Conor! Where w-w-w-were you? You n-n-never showed up for p-p-practice!”

Conor stopped jacking long enough to give him a confused look. “Whaddaya mean? I dropped off the rowin’ team to take up football. I thought I let ya know.”

“You’re playing f-f-football?” Chester stammered. “S-S-Since when?”

“Since today, silly!” Conor replied, jerking his head toward his throbbing cock. “Now hop on!”

***

An hour later found Chester straddling Conor’s massive waist, rubbing his aching his hole and grimacing in pain as his buddy gazed up at him fondly. “T-T-That hurt!” he complained. “You’re too big!”

Conor frowned. “Too big, huh? How can I be too big when I fit inside ya so perfectly?”

Chester contemplated this for a moment before conceding, “Well, m-m-maybe I just need a ch-ch-chance to recover. Y-Y-You fucked me three times today!”

“Awww, I’m sorry!” Conor said, pulling a sad face and opening his arms. “C’mere an’ lemme make up for it.”

Gamely, Chester allowed his friend to envelop him in a smothering hug. He gave a startled squawk, though, when Conor positioned his fat cockhead over the little hole concealing his buried glans.

“C’mon, bud!” Conor pleaded, covering his mouth with a sloppy kiss. “I wanna fuck yer pussy! I promise to be gentle.”

“It’s n-n-not a pussy!” Chester complained, trying to pull away but Conor could not be dissuaded.

Chester whimpered in pain when he felt that blunt ramrod push inside of him. Conor took this as permission and pushed in further. Chester’s eyes rolled back in his head as he felt his ‘pussy’ shred under the relentless onslaught and soon a good four inches of Conor’s anaconda had snaked inside him. Conor didn’t give up! He grabbed Chester’s tiny butt cheeks and pulled him closer, shoving deeper inside. Chester’s scream of agony quickly morphed into a cry of passion as Conor’s massive cockhead collided with his tiny, hidden glans. Soon, Conor was rocking back and forth, sending Chester into delirious orbit with this glorious glans-to-glans friction. When he finally exploded with orgasm, Conor joined him, pumping his boy pussy full of potent cum.

“See?” Conor teased after Chester had collapsed on top of him, completely spent from that stratospheric climax. “Yer pussy was just waitin’ fer me to fuck it!”

Chester growled in exasperation at the continued use of the term ‘pussy’ to describe his man parts but then whined in protest when Conor started to pull out. He stopped him, pleading, “Don’t, C-C-Conor! Stay inside me!”

“Ok, bud,” Conor said, chuckling. “Whatever ya say!” He accentuated this with a little pelvic thrust and Chester gasped when he felt Conor’s cock harden once again inside him.

“Y-Y-You’re a beast!” he exclaimed, struggling in the grip of Conor’s beefy arms. “You can’t be ready so soon!”

“I’m not a beast, bud,” Conor corrected, holding him so tightly that it almost hurt. “I’m a bull and yer gonna ride me all night!”

And that’s what Chester did.

***

“I fergot the Halloween dance is tonight,” Conor muttered the next morning, rolling over in bed and checking his phone. “We haven’t picked out our costumes yet!”

Chester moaned next to him. His body was sore from head to toe but both holes were especially achey. Conor had fucked him so many times he’d lost count. He doubted that his asshole or his pussy would ever recover. He was destined to be loose and slutty for the rest of his life!

“Huh?” Conor joked, oblivious to his private agony. “I didn’t catch that.”

Chester rolled over onto his side, putting a hand over his pussy before Conor could grab it again. “We p-p-picked out of our costumes last week!” he whined. “We’re going as a j-j-jock and a nerd.”

Conor’s eyebrows lifted. “Why would we go as who we are? That don’t make sense.”

Before Chester could respond, Conor swung his tree trunk legs over the edge of the bed and hoisted himself up, standing naked and proudly erect over him. He waggled his dripping organ in Chester’s face before turning to bend over and pick up his clothes.

Chester sighed and felt around for his glasses on the nightstand. When he settled them onto his nose, he took one look at Conor and sat bolt upright, sputtering, “J-J-Jesus, Conor! Is that another tattoo?”

Conor laughed, sticking his hairy ass up in the air to display the huge, black hoof print inked directly over the cleft of his buttocks. “It’s my new tramp stamp,” he crowed. “Ya like?”

“It’s quite something, alright,” Chester muttered, rolling his eyes and thinking that if Conor didn’t stop soon, he would be covered from head to toe in tattoos. He started to turn away but stopped when he was struck with a thought. “Hey, C-C-Conor? That t-t-tattoo gives m-m-me an idea.”

Conor straightened and looked down at him with a loving, if somewhat hungry, expression. “What’s that, bud? Ya ready to ride the Bull again?”

Chester blanched and held up his hands, saying, “No! N-N-Not that! I think I h-h-have an idea for our Halloween costumes.”

Conor’s bovine face lit up with this. “Tell me, bud! Tell me what we’re gonna wear!”

***

That evening Chester led Conor by the nose into the ballroom for the rowing team’s annual Halloween dance. The crowd parted for them as they entered, greeting them with a mixture of cheers and guffaws. Chester felt supremely awkward dressed in cardboard armor and wearing a plumed helmet but, he reasoned, it was better than his usual nerd attire. As a diminutive Theseus, he could at least pretend to be an impressive, muscular hero. He gripped his plastic spear and gave the rope a tug, eliciting a bellow of protest from Conor the Minotaur.

“Hey, bud!” he complained. “Not so hard! My nose hasn’t healed from the piercing yet!”

“Shut up!” Chester commanded in a surprisingly stutter-free voice. “After what you’ve done to my holes, you can put up with some abuse.”

Conor grumbled but nonetheless obediently plodded along, following him inside. He was wearing only the briefest of loincloths that did nothing to conceal his bull-sized cock and balls. The pair of horns that Chester had glued above his ears looked cheesy but, even so, he made a very impressive bullman. Towering nearly seven feet tall and covered with muscles (and body hair), the mere sight of him was enough to send a frisson of carnal delight up the spine of the onlookers. Chester smiled as he watched the crowd’s reaction. They were all so busy staring at Conor that they forgot all about him. It was a rare reprieve for him and he was determined to enjoy it while it lasted. He made a beeline for the drinks table, towing Conor behind him.

“Yo, Conor, you look a-mazin’!” Rick Hayes called out as they approached. “I’m sorry yer not on the team anymore but it’s totally awesome yer playin’ football now. Maybe we’ll win the conference this year?”

Chester looked over in time to see Rick turn his back on him. The message was clear; he was not worthy of Rick’s attention. He narrowed his eyes, noting that Rick was dressed as Prince Charming. Wearing a crown, waist-length doublet, and a pair of nylon hose, his bulge was on prominent display and there was no doubt that he was hung. Maybe not as hung as Conor but, then again, no other mortal man was. Chester looked down at himself, keenly aware that beneath his cheap warrior’s belt, he had no bulge at all and instead sported the inverse: A boy pussy. A boy pussy when he used to be hung like a fucking stallion! It galled him to no end that Rick had taken over his position as the rowing team’s top dog (next to ‘The Crave’, of course.)

Conor didn’t seem to notice Rick’s snub of Chester as he rumbled, “Fuck yeah, man! We’re gonna kick some serious ass this year if I got anything to say ‘bout it!”

He tried to straighten but the rope through his nose ring was too tight. After casting a beseeching look downward, Chester relented and gave the big oaf some slack. Conor gratefully stood up and reached for a beer.

He had just cracked the tab and lifted the can to his snout when Rick made a rude sound next to him. Elbowing Conor in the ribs, he snorted, “OMG! Who the fuck invited that fat slob?”

Conor and Chester swiveled to see a huge, flabby man lumber into the ballroom. Dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants and a formless, bulky shirt with ‘Dad Bod’ stenciled in bold letters, he shuffled over to the drink table and reached for a Coke. He quickly guzzled it down and then stuffed a heaping handful of chips into his gaping maw while Rick watched with obvious distaste.

Chester tried not to stare but there was something mesmerizing about the huge guy. He couldn’t take his eyes off of him! With a rotund gut and a ballooning booty to match, he was beyond plus-sized and veered dangerously toward morbid obesity. His greasy hair hung down lankly onto his shoulders and he wore steel-rimmed glasses that hadn’t been fashionable in over three decades. His face was almost as blobby and round as his body and the scraggly beard clinging to his sagging cheeks didn’t help much to increase his attractiveness. When he wasn’t stuffing chips into his mouth, he peered around the room with squinty eyes.

Rick watched him for a while before turning on a princely heel and stalking away, saying over his shoulder to Conor, “See ya, bro! I’m gonna go find The Crave.”

His absence left Conor and Chester to engage–or at least try to–the guy in conversation. This proved to be nearly impossible because the man wasn’t inclined to chat. He would only grunt in response to their polite smalltalk and was more interested in studying the crowd of costumed rowers. Chester followed his gaze and noticed that he seemed particularly interested in Rick Hayes.

After a while, Conor grew bored with socializing and pulled Chester aside to paw at his costume. “Yer so fuggin’ hawt dressed up as Theresa!” he growled. “I wanna fuck you!”

“It’s ‘Theseus’!” Chester huffed. “And I won’t let you fuck me here! Can’t you wait until we get back to my room?”

In response, Conor fished his big mitt under Chester’s warrior belt and fingered his pussy.

“You’re–Ungh!–terrible!” he complained but didn’t resist when Conor hauled him behind the dessert table and proceeded to fuck him senseless. This time around, it was the Minotaur who slew Theseus.

***

After their messy (and loud) sexual escapade, Chester did his best to reassemble his costume and make himself decent. He didn’t have too much trouble with himself but making Conor presentable was impossible to do without a trip to the bathroom. He grabbed the rope (still attached to Conor’s nose ring) and led the hulking brute inside to fix his costume.

He guided Conor into one of the stalls and worked hard to conceal the mammoth organ that threatened to burst free of his lover’s flimsy loincloth. It didn’t help that Conor became aroused again and resumed pawing at Chester’s costume. He tried to wrestle free but Conor was too strong (and Chester was too hot for him!) He soon gave in and let Conor fuck him. This time, though, he insisted on being on top. He pushed the big galoot down onto the toilet seat and clambered aboard, clinging to his lover’s neck and squatting down over his waiting ‘bullhorn’. There was no sating Conor’s appetite!

He was cleaning himself up in the stall afterward when he heard the door to the restroom open. Holding his finger to his lips, he turned to Conor and then scowled when he saw his friend had fallen asleep on the toilet seat. He lay there with his great head thrown backward and his mouth wide open, snoring loudly. Chester pursed his lips and resolved to wait until the new guest had departed before exiting the stall. The last thing he wanted was an audience while he cleaned up at the sink.

When the guy took position at the urinals next to their stall, Chester looked down and recognized Prince Charming’s black boots. He rolled his eyes. Why the fuck did Rick Hayes have to keep following them around?

He scowled as the dude spread his feet wide and let loose with a loud spray of urine, taking forever to drain himself. It was almost like he knew he had an audience because he moaned theatrically, spreading his feet even wider and sighing. Chester swore that he could even hear the guy’s huge dick flopping up and down as he shook himself off. All of this made Chester hate Rick more than ever. If only the jock knew what it was like to have to squat over the toilet bowl while pee trickled out of his pussy!

He was grinding his teeth, waiting impatiently for Rick to finish when he heard the door open again, followed quickly by a groan of disgust from Rick. “Well, if it isn’t the ‘Jabba the Gut’!” he huffed, audibly stuffing his package back into the codpiece of his costume. “Who the fuck invited you to this party? Did anyone tell you it’s for athletes only?”

His taunt was greeted with a low grunt. Chester tensed. He knew from Rick’s reaction that it was the large man from the drink table. It bothered him to hear the jock tease the guy like that, mostly because Rick resorted to the same sort of taunts that were normally hurled at Chester. Why did jocks (except for Conor, of course!) have to be such bullies?

When Rick persisted in heaping abuse on the guy, Chester finally reached his limit. Not caring if he was mostly naked from his romp with Conor, he stormed out of the stall and confronted the bully. Rick was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a sneer on his face. In front of him, the large man stood at the urinals, giant shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Shut the fuck up, you big asshole!” Chester yelled, rounding on the surprised Prince Charming. “Leave him alone!”

Rick’s eyes went briefly round at Chester’s sudden appearance but he quickly recovered and his familiar hauteur reasserted itself. He was opening his mouth to reply when the big guy at the urinals suddenly fainted. Conor reacted quickly and dove to catch him but he was too late. The huge man toppled over, landing squarely on top of Rick.

There was a loud thud and Rick cried out in alarm. Chester scrambled to help the big man up to his feet, leaning down and slinging his hand under the guy’s arm and tugging him upward. In his excitement, he forgot how tiny and weak he was; there was no way he could get the leverage he needed to succeed.

“Jesus Christ!” Rick wailed from beneath the large man. “Get the fuck off me!”

Chester ignored him and instead asked the man, “Are you Ok? If you can get your feet under you, I can help you up.”

The man cracked an eye and nodded weakly, struggling to move his legs. With Chester’s help, he was eventually gained enough traction to push himself back onto his feet. He stood there, weaving back and forth, while Chester steadied him. Rick rolled free, crawling over to the corner of the room and moaning pathetically.

“Are you Ok?” Chester asked, looking up with concern at the big man. “Should I call 9-1-1?”

For some reason, this made the man’s lip curl into a smile and he asked, “Do you know who I am, Chet?”

Chester blinked at the use of his old name. It seemed like forever ago when he had gone by it and it felt almost as if the name belonged to someone else. He searched the man’s face in confusion, saying, “No, I don’t. Should I?”

“Yes, you should,” came the mysterious reply. The man exhaled softly and straightened, fixing Chester with an unreadable expression before prompting, “How about now?”

Chester squinted. Now that he examined him, there was something familiar about the big man. His hair was a familiar shade of red and, behind the thick glasses, his blue eyes sparkled with amusement just like…

“Holy shit!” he gasped, finally recognizing the man. “Percy?”

Percy Craven nodded, smile broadening. “The one and the same,” he said. “I’m surprised it took you so long, Chet. Most of my victims never forget me.”

“Your…victims?” Chester queried, feeling his skin prickle as he took an inadvertent step backward. At that moment, something dark and sinister flitted across the transformed Percy’s face and Chester shivered. “Who are you?” he demanded. “And what did you do to me?”

Unruffled, the big man regarded him silently for a long time before saying, “What day is it today, Chet?”

Without thinking, Chester replied, “It’s Thursday but I don’t see what has to do with–”

“No,” Percy interrupted, shaking his head so hard that his big jowls flopped up. “Not the day of the week! What day is it?”

“It’s October 31st,” Chester started to say and stopped, his voice trailing off. When the answer finally clicked in his head, he had to suppress a shiver. “Halloween,” he stated, drawing further away from Percy. “It’s Halloween.”

Percy’s lips curled into a wicked smile. “Precisely. Now do you know what I am?”

Chester shook his head. For some reason, he felt ill, almost like he was going to throw up. Somehow, though, he managed to hold it together long enough to sputter, “I don’t! I have no idea what you are!”

“I’ll show you,” Percy replied, turning to focus on Rick Hayes’ prone body. The big jock was splayed out supine on the floor, eyes open but vacant. He appeared to be muttering to himself.

Chester followed his gaze and stared at the sprawled out Prince Charming. Rick was lying with his feet pointing toward them, giving them a stellar view of his magnificently muscled legs and bulging crotch. His doublet had been carefully tailored to accentuate his ripped physique. Even his thick, black curls remained perfectly coiffed under the plastic crown lying askew on his head. There was no denying it: Rick Hayes was a stud!

Or was he?

As Chester watched, the jock’s body began to change. Subtly at first but then with increasing speed, his belly expanded, popping the golden buttons on the doublet. Soon, it had inflated so much that the shirt tore open and Chester was left gaping at the enormously round, sagging gut spilling out over the dude’s formerly trim waistline.

Rick’s arms and legs quickly followed suit, growing fat as sausages. His sapphire hose stretched to near transparency before they exploded into shreds. Beneath him, the jock’s pert buttocks ballooned into truly massive proportions, lifting him up, up, up until he appeared to be balancing on top of twin bosu balls.

Waking up belatedly to his transforming body, Rick scrambled to sit up but found it to be impossible. He writhed on the floor, rolling back and forth on his giant bottom, face contorted in horror. Chester flinched when the changes reached Rick’s neck and crept inexorably upward. The stud’s cheeks rounded and filled out, becoming jowls. His neck all but disappeared along with most of his hair. In a matter of seconds, he aged more than thirty years, going bald and sprouting a nappy, gray beard.

When it was over and he was finally able to sit up, Rick Hayes was gone. In his place was a middle-aged man with a huge gut, enormous butt, and saggy tits with huge nipples. His once smooth chest, legs, and arms were covered in a thick coat of bristly body hair. Perhaps most significantly, his cock and balls had been swallowed up entirely by a heavy apron of flesh, making it look like he had a pussy.

As aghast as he was by Rick’s changes, Chester couldn’t help but feel a stab of vicious triumph at seeing the haughty asshole knocked off of his pedestal and he found himself smiling coldly.

“I see that you and I aren’t so different after all,” Percy observed next to him. “This,” he said, motioning to the former jock wailing pitifully before them, “is how I feed. This is my feast.”

Chester looked over at him and gave a start. The huge man from a few moments ago had completely disappeared and in his place was a fairly nondescript young man of perhaps twenty years old. He had the same red hair and flashing blue eyes but little else about him was recognizable.

“H-H-How–” he began but stopped, shaking his head. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he was able to spit out, “What are you?”

“I thought it was obvious,” Percy replied. “I’m a vampire.”

Chester jumped, repeating, “A vampire?!”

“Oh, I’m unusual for my kind,” Percy explained, obviously amused by Chester’s reaction. “I don’t suck blood or burst into flame in the daylight. I do, however, feed off of humans. Instead of blood, though, I feed off your humiliation.”

Chester’s mouth had fallen open again. Closing it with a snap, he said, “You feed off…?”

“Humiliation,” Percy finished for him. “Yes, it’s like a delectable wine to me.” He paused to motion over to Rick who was still writhing in shock on the floor before continuing, “This…spectacle…will keep me sated for a month.”

“A month?”

“Yes, a month at least. Maybe longer.” When Chester made no reply to this, Percy added, “But just because I’m a vampire who feeds off humiliation doesn’t mean I’m all bad. In fact, I fancy myself a sort of Robin Hood who takes from the rich and give to the poor.”

Chester’s brain was having trouble processing all of this new and bizarre information and he barely had the wherewithal to stare dumbly back at Percy as he prattled on.

“Take yourself, for instance,” the vampire was saying. “I took away your prowess and bestowed it upon a more deserving boy. You’ll meet him at rowing practice tomorrow. And, if you’re lucky, you may encounter the man whose, ahem, large attributes I have transferred to Rick here. He’s now a very sexy and svelte nineteen year old with a rather extraordinarily big penis.”

A cold wave washed over Chester’s body at the mention of his name and he flinched. So, he had been right after all: Percy had stolen his precious manhood! This horrid vampire had robbed him of his body, stature, and prowess! He turned to Percy, lower lip quivering with outrage.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” the vampire chided. “I’m not completely heartless! I did give you Conor, didn’t I? I could see the way he looked at me when I was inhabiting the body of the nerd and knew he would cleave to you like a bull to his heifer once your transformation was complete.” Chester gave him such a sour look of reproach that Percy laughed. “What?” he teased. “You don’t like him like this? Should I change him back?”

“What?! No!” Chester protested. “Leave him alone!” The thought of losing Conor was too much to bear. Conor was the one good thing to come out this whole sordid business.

“Very well,” Percy sighed. “I shall leave him the way he is. I do think, however, that you have earned a bit of a reprieve.”

“A reprieve?”

“Yes, a reprieve,” the vampire answered.

Chester was turning to give him a questioning look when Percy surprised him by leaning in for a kiss. He brushed his lips with such gentle tenderness that Chester almost didn’t register it. Then, in a blink of an eye, the vampire turned and disappeared.

Chester never saw Percy Craven again.

***

Conor was awake when Chester pulled open the door to the stall. His big, beautiful lover was sitting on the toilet, staring down at himself with wide eyes. He looked up at Chester with a mixture of confusion and alarm.

“Chet?” he asked. “What the fuck happened to you?” He stopped and looked back down at himself, adding, “And what the fuck happened to me?”

Even though his deep voice was unchanged, Chester could tell immediately from his clipped tone that this wasn’t the same Conor as before. Or, rather, it was the same Conor as before…before Percy entered their lives, that is. The only difference was that now he occupied a very different body.

In silent answer to Conor’s plaintive questions, Chet knelt down and kissed him. At first, Conor went rigid in his arms but then he opened his lips and responded, enveloping Chet’s mouth with his much larger, wetter one. He pulled Chet against him, a deep growl building in the back of his throat. When he lurched to his feet and pushed Chet against the stall, grinding his massive body against him, he didn’t resist. Why would he? He loved Conor. Loved him completely.

“Mmmm, that was nice,” Conor murmured when they finally drew apart. “But I thought you were straight.”

“I was,” Chet replied. “A lot has changed.”

“I can see that,” Conor mused, pausing to look down at himself. He made a face when he registered the lurid tattoos scratched onto his arms and belly but he smiled deeply when his gaze landed on his huge bull cock and balls. It wasn’t long before that behemoth had risen to point jauntily at Chet’s sternum. “Jesus Christ,” Conor breathed finally, eyes leaving his own body to travel down the length of Chet’s. “You’re beautiful!”

Chet looked down, self-conscious and ashamed because he knew he was anything but beautiful. He froze, however, when he realized that Conor wasn’t the only one waking up to a changed body: His formerly acne-scarred, scrawny frame had filled out with new muscles. His skin was freckled but otherwise unblemished and a slight dusting of black body hair covered his chest and belly. Best of all, though, was his pussy. Or, rather, the lack of it. A short, stubby cock jutted out from the bush of his pubic hair. It wasn’t much but it was definitely a cock. His pussy was gone!

And so was his ass.

He sighed with resignation when he cupped his buttocks and discovered they were just as tiny and formless as before. He dropped his hands and had started to turn away when Conor stopped him. Taking Chet’s little butt in his giant hands, he squeezed his cheeks fondly and then made him jump by wiggling his fingers, tickling his butthole.

Chet’s breath caught in his chest when Conor soothed, “You’re perfect in every way. I am the luckiest guy in the world!”

Chet opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by a low moan from outside the stall. It was Rick. The hapless ex-jock was still out there rolling around and wailing over his misfortune. Conor’s eyebrows went up and he craned his neck, going quite pale when he saw what had become of his former teammate.

“I’ll explain later,” Conor said, forestalling his questions. “Right now I just want you to fuck me.”

***

Epilogue

The late autumn sun was slanting down behind them when Chet and his new rowing partner, Lane Cross, reached the dam on the upper part of the river. As usual, they were so far ahead of the rest of the team that they had a good ten minutes to relax on the rocks before anyone caught up.

“So, bro,” Lane said, patting the rock beside him. “I have an idea.”

Chet looked down at him and smiled at his good fortune. Lane had taken Conor’s place on the team and had immediately proved himself to be invaluable. He and Chet were perfectly matched, falling into an easy but brutally efficient rhythm that had landed them more trophies than the rest of the team combined. The fact that Lane was straight scarcely mattered to him; he was glad to have such a genuinely kind man as his rowing partner…and best friend.

“You?” he teased, settling down onto the boulder next to him. “An idea? This really is a remarkable day.”

“Shut up! Yer such an asshole!” Lane complained, elbowing him in the ribs. “Just ‘cuz I’m not a fuckin’ genius like you doesn’t mean I don’t have good ideas.”

Chet smiled to himself as he studied Lane’s delectable body. The dude was big and broad like Conor but not nearly as heavy which meant his weight-to-power ratio was optimal. Also optimal were his big muscles–and not bad to look at, either. The same could be said of the sizable bulge tenting of the crotch of his orange and black unisuit. Chet licked his lips, relishing those precious minutes in the shower after practice when his rowing partner would strip naked and let his long, thick meat sway languidly between his powerful thighs. Add in his green eyes and shaggy black hair and–Ungh!–Lane Cross was perfect in every way. What would it be like to–

Lane’s irritated voice brought him back to the present and he shook himself. “I’m sorry. What?”

 “Did you hear anything I just said?” Lane demanded, eyebrows drawn together in consternation.

“No,” Chet admitted sheepishly. “But I did have a good time fantasizing about your–”

“Stop!” Lane protested, holding up his big hands. “Do ya ever think about anything besides my cock?”

“Well, sometimes I do think about your balls,” Chet mused. “And when I’m really horny I think about fucking your–”

“Jesus Christ, you’re the worst!” Lane said, grimacing. “I don’t know why I put up with you. I’m gonna give Conor a talkin’ to when we get back.”

“I can assure you that he shares my fantasies,” Chet replied. “In fact, he was wondering if you would be open to–”

“Ok, I see this ain’t goin’ anywhere good,” Lane huffed, standing up and turning his back to him.

Chet smirked and gazed up at him, admiring his firm and muscular silhouette and the bubbling shelf of his buttocks jutting out behind him. He felt his little cocklet plump up and reached down to massage it, feeling grateful for the millionth time to have his manhood back–even if it was much diminished in size.

It was only with great effort that he tore his attention away from Lane’s magnificent body and forced himself to focus on their conversation again. “So, Lane,” he began. “What was your idea?”

His friend crossed his beefy arms and scowled down at him, saying sulkily, “I forgot.”

Chet sighed. “C’mon! Tell me!”

Lane was quiet for so long that Chet worried that this time he had succeeding in offending him but when he finally spoke, his tone was light. “Ya know the rowing team is havin’ a masquerade ball next month, right?”

Chet nodded, skin prickling with foreboding.

“Well,” Lane continued, “I was thinking ‘bout it and I have the perfect idea for our costumes. I think you and I should dress up as…”

***