Orientation

by Cris Kane

After a welcoming party, freshman roommates discover that life is different at college—and so are they.

4 parts Added Apr 2019 21k views 4.8 stars (10 votes) 20k words

Jacob slumped on the bare mattress and stared glumly across the empty dorm room at the cardboard box. Here he was, embarking on his new life as a freshman in college, and the essentials of his existence had fit into a single cardboard box. Not even a particularly big box – just the one his mom’s microwave oven came in when they moved into an apartment after his parents’ divorce. He’d tried to limit what he brought to the absolute necessities – his laptop, his clothes, bedsheets and a pillow – leaving behind his cherished comic-book collection and an even more treasured magazine collection he’d secreted behind a panel he was sure his mom didn’t know existed. Even so, lugging that one box was effort enough for someone as scrawny as Jacob.

His mom couldn’t get away from work to help him move, so Jacob had to stow the box in the luggage compartment of the Greyhound and then tote it the seven blocks from the bus depot to his new dorm. He had to stop and rest every half block or so, setting down the box to give his barely-there muscles a break. As he leaned against a parking meter, wiping the sleeve of his long-sleeved Oxford across his forehead, he watched his more sensibly dressed fellow students in shorts and tees whizzing past him with their own belongings. Jacob’s eyes were drawn to a group of fit young studs straight out of an Abercrombie and Fitch campaign (only in motion and in color), already finished with their unpacking and playing shirts-vs.-skins touch football in the quad. Whenever one of the chiseled bros noticed an attractive girl having the least bit of trouble lifting even the smallest of packages, the game stopped immediately so they could come to her assistance. Nobody was going to lend a hand to a dork like Jacob, though. Ten minutes on the campus, and Jacob already knew he was going to be just as invisible as he’d been in high school.

Eventually, he made it to the dorm building, up the elevator and, finally, down the hall to his room. He was so fatigued and out of breath by that point that he sat on the floor and pushed the box the remaining distance with his legs. Now exhausted on his umade bed, resting his chin on his chest, Jacob could tell how much he reeked with sweat from this unaccustomed amount of physical exertion. He crawled across the floor and opened the box. The wardrobe selection was uninspiring but the best his mom could do on limited income and intermittent child support. Still, on a sunny August afternoon like this, Jacob’s usual choices of plaid flannel shirts and corduroy pants just weren’t going to cut it. He dug deeper to a vein of t-shirts and extracted a green t-shirt bearing the “Incredible Hulk” logo. It was a mass of wrinkles and would immediately typecast him as a geek, but it’d cool him off. Besides, who did he think he was he kidding? He WAS a geek. Just being in a new environment wasn’t going to alter who he was.

If he needed any more proof of that, he got it as he unbuttoned his shirt and glimpsed himself in the fluorescent-lit mirror on the dorm-room wall. The sickly lighting made his bony torso look even worse than usual. “If this engineering thing doesn’t work out, I could always be in those commercials where they ask you to donate to starving children,” Jacob thought, using the well-developed defense mechanism of humor which had usually allowed him to escape any serious bullying. He tried to persuade himself that his face wasn’t so terrible, if you looked past his few remaining zits. And the clunky brown-framed glasses that tended to slide down his nose. And the uncombed tangle of mud-colored hair that hung in a fringe down to his eyes. So what did that leave? Well, he did think he had good cheekbones, although maybe that was just because his whole body was so emaciated.

The door flung open suddenly and a dolly loaded with boxes rolled into the room. Jacob turned as his new roommate stepped from behind the stack of boxes: six-foot-two, summer-tanned, with neatly trimmed honey-blond hair, perfectly muscled arms hanging from a sweat-drenched sleeveless tee, nicely proportioned calves below the hem of his ripped cargo shorts, and well-used deck shoes on his sockless feet. Jacob could sense his own body’s involuntary responses, as his eyes widened, his mouth went dry, and his Fruit-of-the-Looms got a little bit more snug. Caught up in his own sensations, he didn’t notice the slight flicker of disappointment across the newcomer’s face, which was immediately replaced by a cheerful smile and an extended hand.

“You must be my roomie. I’m Chuck.”

Jacob’s normally quick mind took a few seconds before it could dredge up Jacob’s name and spit it out. His hand was enveloped in Chuck’s beefy grip, his soft skin grazed by the calluses that roughened Chuck’s palm. Jacob became acutely aware of his shirtlessness and hastily pulled on his shirt. He crossed his arms and tried to act casual. “Need a hand there?”

“Nah, I think I can handle it,” Chuck smiled as he removed a neon beer sign from the top box and plugged it into the wall socket. As it buzzed into action, urging the consumption of Budweiser, Chuck glanced at Jacob. “You’re inside out.”

Jacob looked baffled.

“Your shirt.”

Embarrassed, Jacob turned, facing the window to avoid displaying his sunken chest to Chuck any more than necessary. Twisting the fabric so the “Hulk” logo would show, he quickly pulled the shirt back on. It felt oddly tight in the front. Then he noticed the size tag sticking up below his chin. He now had the shirt on backwards, but didn’t want to draw any more attention to his dorkiness, so he left it that way, tucking the tag under the collar.

Chuck considered telling Jacob that his shirt was now on backwards, but he didn’t want to embarrass the poor guy even further. Despite his imposing presence, Chuck had always made a point of treating the nerdier kids back home decently. His football buddies were relentless in their badgering of those smaller and weaker than they were, but Chuck had been taught well by his folks. Besides, he’d been puny himself until a growth spurt between sophomore and junior years gave him the body and athletic skills that were now allowing him to attend college on a generous scholarship. Not that he wasn’t a good student. Before he got big and the distractions of sports and socializing entered his life, Chuck showed talent for writing and drawing. Some of the kids who were victimized the worst by Chuck’s teammates had been Chuck’s closest friends not so long ago, so he always stepped in to defend them. Chuck was such a nice and well-respected guy that only the biggest assholes on the team would ignore his requests that they chill out – and would pay the consequences courtesy of Chuck’s fists if they continued to disobey.

As Jacob busied himself unpacking, keeping his head down and avoiding eye contact, Chuck watched with a knowing grin. In Chuck’s rural part of the state, it was still nearly impossible for gay people to live out of the closet. Chuck didn’t expect attitudes to be much more open and tolerant in the locker rooms where he’d be spending a lot of his time, but hopefully someone like Jacob could be more comfortable with his obvious feelings in a college town like this.

Chuck noticed that Jacob was finished unpacking his spartan belongings. “Hey, Jacob, you feel like going out and grabbing a slice of pizza?”

Jacob turned to Chuck, perplexed and wary. “No, that’s okay, you can go.”

“C’mon, buddy. I don’t know anybody here. And since we’re gonna be roommates, we should get to know each other better.”

“Well. Okay, sure.”

“Great! I’m just gonna take a quick shower and we’ll go.”

Chuck turned around and slowly peeled his drenched shirt from his body, knowing he was giving Jacob a memorable show. Chuck wasn’t excessively vain, but he wasn’t unaware of his looks and figured his poor roommate wouldn’t mind a cheap thrill. Feeling almost charitable about the act, he grabbed a towel and some body wash and headed down the hallway to the showers.

Once the door closed, Jacob rushed to his dresser drawer. After that display, Jacob definitely need to change his underpants.

Chuck and Jacob strolled off campus to the commercial area that served the student body. Chuck now wore a newly purchased football jersey for the school’s team which clung tightly to his freshly-scrubbed musculature, matched with khaki shorts and Vans slip-ons. Jacob had turned his shirt around properly, so the “Hulk” logo now hung over his decidedly un-hulklike chest. The green t-shirt dangled loosely over Jacob’s five-foot-five frame but, at least with the shirt untucked and hanging well past the waist of his Wal-Mart jeans, any boners that arose from hanging out with Chuck would be hidden from view.

They ordered a couple slices of pizza and drinks (Mountain Dew for Jacob, water for Chuck) and grabbed a window seat from which they could watch the throngs of students roaming the streets.

“Is it just me or does everyone here look fuckin’ hot?” Chuck asked.

“It’s just you,” Jacob muttered while chewing, his eyes staring down at the tablecloth.

Chuck laughed good-naturedly, sensing the reluctant admission lurking behind Jacob’s wisecrack. He did his best to open up his roommate, asking about his home life, his planned courses, his hobbies. Jacob offered few details and continued to glance only furtively at Chuck.

As they left and headed back toward their dorm, a slim young man with plenty of energy, dressed in a white tank and shorts, approached Chuck and Jacob carrying a bundle of flyers. He sized them up and asked “You guys together?”

Jacob blurted a quick embarrassed “no” before Chuck could more accurately reply, “We’re roommates.”

The pamphleteer grinned, directing his attention toward Chuck, and handed him a Xeroxed sheet. “We’re having an orientation mixer off campus tonight. We’d sure like to see you guys there.”

Chuck asked, “You mean like a kegger?”

“I’m a pretty good judge of people. I’m guessing both of you guys are only 18?”

Chuck and Jacob both nodded.

“Yeah, we can’t serve beer to people who are under drinking age.”

Jacob mumbled, “That’s okay, I don’t drink anyway.”

“Well, don’t worry, we’ve got a concoction that’s sure to loosen you up.” He pointed to Chuck’s football jersey. “You on the team?”

Chuck screwed up his face in semi-embarrassment. “Yeah.”

“Great! I happen to know that one of the cheerleaders is gonna be there. They’ll be happy to see you.” He winked at Chuck and pointed to the flyer. “That’s the address right there. Tell them Barry sent you. And your names are?”

Chuck replied, “I’m Chuck and the chatty one is Jacob.”

Barry repeated, “Chuck and Jacob. Glad to meet you.”

Chuck studied the flyer. “Okay, man. Thanks!”

Barry scrunched down so he could see into Jacob’s downcast eyes and pointed to Jacob’s shirt. “Cheer up, Hulk. You’re in college now! Live a little.”

As Barry moved along the sidewalk, Chuck turned to Jacob. “Could be a cool party. Whattaya think?”

Jacob shrugged. “I think I’ll just go back to the room.”

“And what, study? Classes don’t start ‘til Monday. Come on, an orientation party would do us both good.”

“I’m not real good at parties.”

“You’ll be fine. And I’ll be right there with you.”

“Sure, until some hot cheerleader lures you away and I’ll spend the rest of the night nursing a 7 Up in the corner.”

“I promise, you’ll have the best time of your life.”

Jacob’s eyes peered upward through the fringe of his hair at Chuck’s dazzling smile. If nothing else, he could stare across the room at Chuck all night. That wouldn’t be totally awful. He nodded his agreement and Chuck checked the flyer for directions.

Barry hadn’t been kidding that the party was off campus. Chuck and Jacob must have walked three miles before they finally reached the stone building. It was set well back from the street, its walls densely covered with ivy. It looked like a cross between a castle and a church, with only a few narrow stained-glass windows letting out any light from inside. The guys stepped to the front door, upon which was a long cylindrical post on a hinge for use as a knocker. Jacob tried to come up with a sufficiently witty “knocker” joke but his nerves were getting the better of him.

Chuck clanged the knocker and the door swung open. Jacob practically gasped and even Chuck took a step back upon seeing who opened the door. He towered several inches above Chuck and was even more generously muscled with a thick layer of hair across his broad chest. Cut-off jeans were straining to contain his firm ass muscles and what seemed to be a well-above-average package, and his bulging legs led the eye down to a pair of high-top Chuck Taylors. His black hair had been shaved to the scalp on his right side, revealing a row of gold hoops in his right ear. Long curly black locks cascaded across the top of his head and over his left eye. He eyed them seriously and snapped “Yeah?”

Chuck regained his composure enough to stammer that they were sent by Barry, and the mammoth behind the door smiled welcomingly. He swung the door open wide and gestured for the new guests to enter. “Sorry about being so gruff. We get some jerks who show up at the door sometimes. Gotta be sure you’re our kinda people. My name’s Mick.”

Mick led the boys into a cavernous main room, decorated for a party, with streamers, snacks and a punch bowl. The only thing missing: other guests. Chuck and Jacob traded uneasy glances.

“Don’t worry, it’s early. I assume Barry told you about our special punch?”

Chuck said, “Yeah. What’s in it exactly?”

“It’s a secret recipe. Handed down for generations.” He handed a glass to Chuck, then offered another to Jacob who pushed it away.

“Not for me, thanks.”

“C’mon,” said Mick, “it’ll put hair on your chest.” He winked, then forced the glass into Jacob’s hands, sloshing some onto Jacob’s fingers. “Go ahead, drink up.”

Chuck guzzled his down immediately, letting out a belch. Jacob sipped more cautiously, but was intrigued by the drink. It had a pleasant tingle on his tongue and a refreshing flavor, unlike the alcoholic drinks that people had attempted to peer-pressure him into trying in the past. More impressively, the drink immediately seemed to lighten Jacob’s usually miserable mood.

Jacob smiled approvingly at Mick. “Tastes good.”

Mick smiled. “Gives you a nice buzz, doesn’t it?”

The knocker clanged again and Mick strode back to the front door. Chuck leaned over to Jacob and whispered, “Sorry, man, I didn’t know we were gonna be the only people here. Do you want to take off?”

Jacob felt relaxed. He looked into Chuck’s eyes and smiled. “We can hang around little longer.” He scooped up another glass full of the punch, then ladled another serving into Chuck’s glass. They mockingly clinked their glasses and Jacob offered a toast. “Roommates!”

Chuck repeated the toast and chugged the drink. He couldn’t deny the euphoria the drink was giving him. He’d always stayed pretty clean in order to stay on the football team, but had downed his share of booze and even tried a drug or two – and nothing he’d ever used had provided such a feeling of comfort in his own skin.

“I guess I’m losing my powers of persuasion,” came a lilting voice from behind them. Chuck and Jacob turned around to see Barry entering the room, tossing a pile of undistributed flyers onto an empty chair. “But I had a good feeling that you two would be coming.” He walked over and wrapped his arms around Jacob, who flinched slightly, then around Chuck, who lightly hugged back.

Barry glowered at Mick, who had returned to the room. “Mick, you call this a party? Where’s the music?” Barry dashed across the room to a stereo which, with a couple of touches, began to blast a catchy dance number.

Jacob gestured to the punch bowl. “You want a glass of punch, Barry?”

Barry laughed brightly, “No, I’ve had more than my share. But you guys should drink up. I’m gonna go change into party clothes.”

Barry dashed upstairs and Mick took a seat by the stereo, leaving Chuck and Jacob again alone by the punch bowl. Jacob served himself another glass, but as he brought it to his lips, he noticed something odd that made him spit out the punch.

Chuck asked, “What’s the matter?”

Jacob held his right hand toward Chuck, who examined his roommate’s fingers with a shrug. “Looks normal to me.”

Jacob then put his left hand beside the right one. Viewed side-by-side, the difference was immediately noticeable. The right hand was puffier than the left, and the back and fingers were coated with thicker hair than the left. Jacob pointed to the back of his right hand and said, “This is where I spilled the punch!”

Chuck laughed at the absurdity of Jacob’s claim, but the difference was undeniable. Despite the sense of warmth and well-being that was spreading through his body, Chuck felt a chill. He set down his glass, but noticed Jacob going back for another serving.

“What are you doing, man? After it changed your hand like that?”

Jacob looked straight into Chuck’s eyes, his eyes shining brightly through his glasses. “I want it to change the rest of me!”

As Jacob slammed another glass of the concoction, Chuck backed slowly away. His feet tripped over something in his path and he tumbled to the hardwood floor. Woozy from the drink, his vision spun for a few moments, seeing nothing but a red spiral and white light. As things settled down and came into focus, he realized he was looking up at Barry, who now wore nothing but an amply filled red Speedo.

Barry looked disappointed. “You don’t really want to leave, do you, Chuck?”

“I don’t know what kind of crazy cult you’ve got going, but this is not the party you described. Where are the cheerleaders?”

Barry smirked, “Well, I’m a cheerleader, silly.”

Chuck found himself staring at the red Speedo but shook his head and glared at Barry. “What the hell is in that punch?”

“Something you’ve always wanted. Courage.”

The cocky jock in Chuck was offended. “I’ve got plenty of courage.” He attempted to lift himself up, but Barry placed a bare foot on Chuck’s chest and pushed him back down.

“Maybe on the football field. But deep in your heart, I don’t think you’ve got the courage to be yourself.”

Chuck tried to laugh it off, but Barry knelt down on the floor beside him and spoke intensely.

“You’ve heard of ‘gaydar’? Well, I’ve developed a pretty good sense over the years for people who carry that secret inside them. And when I ran into the two of you tonight, both of you were off the charts.”

Chuck opened his mouth to object, but no words came out. Instead he felt a great sense of relief, like a massive weight sliding off his shoulders. All the years of quickly aborted stares at his buddies in the locker room, the secret pleasure he got from displaying his body to gay boys like Jacob, the denial that these feelings meant what they really meant…

“When I first got to college, I was just like you and your buddy Jacob over there. I’d been afraid to be out when I was in high school, and I thought once I got to college, I could be who I really was inside. But I was still too afraid… until I ran into Mick. He could tell that I needed some courage if I was going to be happy. So he brought me here and gave me the formula. He said someone had given it to him years ago and he was just passing on the favor.”

Chuck glanced across the room at Jacob, who was blissfully rubbing a hand over his crotch and another across the side of his face. Mick was walking toward him with a satisfied grin. Chuck looked back at Barry, his head still buzzing. “So what does the formula do?”

With a wicked grin, Barry said, “It reads your mind.” Poking Chuck in the chest, he continued, “It takes the self-image you carry within you, and brings it to the outside. It gives you a fresh start.”

Chuck waved his hand at the preposterous idea and attempted to sit up, but Barry grabbed him by the arm and planted his lips on Chuck’s. Instantaneously, Chuck got the biggest hard-on of his life as endorphins flooded his body. He stopped resisting and let his mind fill with long-suppressed images. He could feel the magical elixir flowing through his veins.

Across the room, Mick had placed his huge hands upon Jacob’s shoulders and was whispering into Jacob’s ear. Jacob’s eyes were closed as Mick’s baritone filled him in on the history of the magical punch and what it was now doing to Jacob’s body. Despite the joyous feeling pulsing in his body, Jacob still couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You’re telling me that my body will change into whatever I most desire? How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Because,” said Mick, “I used to be a skinny nerd just like you.”

Jacob’s eyes popped open, amazed. He stared hungrily at the massive man beside him and began to smile. He leaned his head back and let the warmth inside him grow. It seemed to radiate from his very core, spreading to his chest first, then along his arms. The “Hulk” shirt which had hung upon him so laughably only a minute ago began to tighten around his expanding pecs and broadening shoulders. He could feel his biceps inflating with muscle, the sleeves of his shirt tightening around them as they grew, then creeping higher and higher, exposing newly revealed veins on both arms. Jacob tightened his fists and felt his hands and forearms growing mighty. The shirt seemed to be strangling him as the elastic collar constricted around his enlarging neck. He inserted his beefy fingertips inside the collar and pulled downward, shredding the flimsy t-shirt from his body – hulking out in real life, the way he’d always fantasized. He glanced down, eager to take a look at his new torso, but everything was a blur.

“You won’t be needing those any more,” Mick said as he pulled Jacob’s clunky glasses away from his face and flung them across the room. Jacob raised a hand to brush the hair from his eyes and was amazed to discover that it had grown to shoulder length and was now a bleach-blond mane which would make any surfer proud. Only then did he see the incredible changes to his body. He slid his fingertips down the gap between his two firm pecs, brushing through the new carpet of blond hair which highlighted his torso and led downward toward his waistline.

He traced his treasure trail with his fingers and played with the buckle of his belt. He could already feel the intense pressure in his now-skintight pants and see the outline of what must have become an impressive cock, but the anticipation of actually seeing it in the flesh was almost too much for him. He rocked unsteadily on his feet. Mick caught him, then knelt at Jacob’s feet and said, “Let me help you with that.”

Mick deftly unbuckled the belt and stripped it from Jacob’s body in a single gesture. The seams of Jacob’s pants were desperately trying to separate, so it took little effort for Mick to yank them away, almost like they had been held together with Velcro.

Jacob gaped at his new equipment, which had already climbed out of his puny briefs and hung semi-hard at seven inches, leaking pre-cum onto Jacob’s massive thigh. From his vantage point on the floor, Mick smiled at Jacob and said, “My, my, you do have a vivid imagination.” Mick wrapped his lips around the head of Jacob’s juicy cock. Jacob leaned his new body back against the punch table, gripping for support as Mick gave him the first blowjob of his life.

Across the room, Chuck’s mind was swimming. Almost literally, as his head was full of images of sleek swimmers slipping their way through water. Although he had grown to the ideal size and heft of a football player in high school, the fantasies floating through Chuck’s freed mind all centered around less bulky bodies. Barry pulled the polo over Chuck’s head so he could get a better look at the transformation. Barry had watched this process every semester for several years since he became Mick’s prime scout, but it still filled him with awe to watch a body reshape itself into its owner’s ideal. It always made Barry think of the expression, “Nobody’s perfect”. Even as physically impressive a specimen as Chuck always had things they wanted to change or improve about themselves.

In a matter of moments, all the stockiness melted off Chuck’s frame, making each of his impressive muscles stand out in even greater relief. His already well-cut six-pack deepened its crevices, and the hair that had covered Chuck’s chest and arms simply floated off of his body, leaving him perfectly and permanently suited for speed in the water. Not surprisingly, Chuck’s mind did very little to alter his already stunning face, although Barry noticed a few tiny tweaks: the tip of Chuck’s nose turned up a bit, his eyebrows became thinner and neatly groomed. And Chuck’s preppy coif seemed to recede into his head, leaving him with a buzz cut which only accentuated the beauty of his facial features.

Chuck writhed on the wooden floor throughout the changes, his hand firmly planted down the front of his pants. He stroked himself steadily while his other hand rubbed with delight across the roughness of the bristles on his magically shorn scalp. Barry traced his tongue around one of Chuck’s perky nipples, causing Chuck to moan and stroke his cock more vigorously. Barry couldn’t resist and lowered Chuck’s shorts, which had become much looser since the transformation began. Barry had no idea how well-endowed Chuck was at the beginning of the night, but the ten inches currently in Chuck’s grip were likely another self-administered improvement.

Barry leaned down and whispered in Chuck’s ear, “Open your eyes and take a look at the new you.”

Chuck did as he was told and was awestruck, especially by the tower of flesh rising at his hips. He realized that what would make his new cock look really slick would be a tribal tattoo – and he marveled as he watched a strip of skin darken mid-shaft and form itself into a perfectly crafted design, recreating precisely the pattern he saw in his mind. He finally looked past his penis and noticed the two massive hunks across the room. Chuck’s jaw dropped. He had trouble recognizing the square-jawed surfer dude getting the blowjob until he noticed the sharp cheekbones unchanged beneath the newly tanned and acne-free skin. “Jacob?”

Jacob was so caught up in being sucked by Mick that he barely heard Chuck calling his name. It already seemed unfamiliar to him, like the name of someone he used to know. He looked over his shoulder at the sexy twink sprawled on the floor, shirtless with his shorts pulled to his ankles. If it weren’t for the amazing face he had first seen only hours ago, he would never have recognized his roommate. A baritone voice rumbled from his throat: “Chuck?”

Chuck practically giggled as he heard his name spoken. Until he had sprouted and joined the football team, his friends and family had always called him Charles or Charlie. Chuck seemed like the code name for the musclehead he had pretended to be for two years. He felt like his authentic self again, the kid who liked artistic stuff and didn’t have to hide his interest in intellectual matters… or boys. Besides, as he looked down at his slender new body, it was pretty clear he wasn’t going to be making the football team now. But maybe his strapping stud of a roommate could get on the team as a walk-on. If the new Jacob had any athletic ability, Chuck… no, Charles really did seem more fitting… should be able to get him up to speed on the basics. “You feeling okay, Jacob?”

Jacob tossed his hair away from his shoulders and pointed to Mick, still working diligently along the length of Jacob’s massive cock. “Never better.”

Charles smiled coyly and asked, “Think I could get a taste of that?”

Mick glanced across the room at Barry, their eyes flashing victoriously. Mick pulled his mouth away from Jacob’s dick and gestured to Charles. “All yours.”

Charles leapt to his feet, leaving his oversized sneakers tangled in his discarded shorts, and scrambled naked across the room. He stood awestruck in front of Jacob, finding it odd to be looking up at him. If Charles had to guess, Jacob must be six-foot-four now, while Charles had shortened himself down to a slim five-ten. Charles got into position in front of Jacob, ready to put his lips around Jacob’s engorged cock when Jacob shook his head.

“Uh uh. Turn around.”

It took a few seconds for Charles to catch on, new as all this was to him. But with a smile, he turned away from Jacob. With his hands and knees pressed against the floor, he pointed his perfect new bubble butt up at his roommate and said, “Whenever you’re ready, Jacob.”

Jacob bent down, surging with confidence and swagger. “The name’s Jake, roomie.”

Jake felt stiff. His back was stiff. His muscles were stiff. His cock was most definitely stiff. As he lay drowsily on an uncomfortably hard surface, he felt like he’d just had the most strenuous workout of his life… which made him chuckle. “Since when do I work out?” he thought. Vague memories of a sexy dream floated through his head, but he’d never felt so physically depleted from a dream.

As he stretched his arms to yawn, he realized his left arm was pinned down by something. His left forearm and hand felt the prickly numbness of being asleep. He rolled onto his side to move whatever was trapping him, and his right hand landed upon a warm body. That had definitely never happened before.

He opened his eyes and saw a gorgeous young man lying on the hardwood floor beside him, his neck nestled atop the elbow of Jake’s trapped arm, a satisfied smile upon his pursed lips. Jake glanced around the vast room and saw crepe-paper streamers drooping from the ceiling and a table with an empty punch bowl. “Holy shit,” thought Jake. “It wasn’t a dream.”

Jake gently jostled the trim-bodied boy beside him, which only prompted the boy to curl sleepily onto his side, his soft six inches of cock curving upwards and clinging tentatively to his laser-cut abs, held in place by an abundance of dried cum. His head rolled onto Jake’s pumped biceps, the stubble on his close-cut scalp brushing Jake’s skin like fine sandpaper. Jake allowed himself a minute to fixate on his companion’s face, never having had the chance to study such a magnificent arrangement of masculine features at such close range… well, not until last night.

The young stud smacked his lips, his tongue coping with an unfamiliar form of cotton-mouth. Squinting, he could make out the luxurious blond locks of last night’s conquest beside him. He remembered she’d been amazing, the best sex he’d ever had, especially when she rammed her jumbo cock into his virgin… Wait a second. He opened his eyes again and saw the unmistakably masculine bone structure of the face opposite him. A smile spread across his lips. “Hey,” he said dreamily. From the jumble of thoughts racing through his brain, he recalled that this was his new roommate Jake, and that he himself now preferred to go by the name Charles.

“You two lovebirds awake?” The friendly voice was accompanied by the slap of approaching bare feet, echoing slightly as they walked across the wooden floor. Jake and Charles looked up to see one of their hosts, Barry, crossing the room with a tray bearing a coffee pot and three mugs. Barry was wearing only a purple thong, but it was one more item of clothing than Jake and Charles combined.

“What time is it?” asked Jake, finally able to stretch his arms and marveling in their massiveness.

“Two a.m. The transformation tends to wipe you out for a few hours, especially if it’s followed by a crazy fuck session like you guys had.”

Charles blushed, while Jake’s cock grew a good half-inch just from the memory of the “crazy fuck session”. He lay one of his sinewy hands on the small of Charles’ back, then slid it down to squeeze one of Charles’ firm ass cheeks. Charles felt surprisingly comfortable as his musclebound roommate’s boytoy, leaning his head cozily against Jake’s bulging shoulder.

“Where’s Mick?” Jake asked.

“Upstairs, asleep. Except for the transformations themselves, he doesn’t like to interact much with the change-ees.”

Charles chuckled, “Change-ees? So that’s what we are now.”

“Unless you’ve got a better word for what you are.”

“How ‘bout ‘fucking amazing’?” suggested Jake, his intonation already seeming more fratboy than gamer geek thanks to the deeper register his voice had taken on.

Barry stuck to business. “I’ll continue as your liaison, to help you through the transition process. One reason it’s always easier to do the change on brand new freshmen is that no one’s gotten to know them yet, so you don’t have to explain your dramatic transformation. Had either of you met many of your fellow students or dorm mates yet?”

“Not really,” said Charles.

“They wouldn’t remember me if they did,” said Jake. “I went through four years of high school and I bet no one in my class could pick me out of a lineup.”

“Well, you’re not going to have that problem now, Jake, so you’ve lost your great opportunity to commit a crime unnoticed. They’ll be able to describe you down to the inch.”

Jake hadn’t even realized he was stroking his meat while Barry talked. It was too hard not to.

Barry gestured for the boys to get up from the floor. “Let’s get you dressed so you can start your new lives.”

Jake was able to fit into the clothes Charles had worn the night before, although with two more inches and twenty more pounds of muscle than the old Chuck had, the shirt and cargos clung more closely to every curve of Jake’s body. Everything Jake had worn to the party was shredded in his transformation, and Charles was a full five inches taller than the former Jacob, so Barry supplied him a cyan tank top, board shorts and flip-flops from his own closet. Barry studied Charles approvingly, getting a semi from seeing Charles’ tight swimmer’s body in Barry’s own clothes. Barry’s chosen shape was more that of a male gymnast, with more prominent shoulder and chest muscles, and he was a couple inches shorter, but neither of them would look out of place on a “Hottest Twinks of the Big Ten” calendar.

Barry entered the guys’ address and phone numbers into his cell and walked them to the door. “Don’t try to do too much at first. Just allow yourselves to acclimate to your new realities. And most importantly, do not tell anyone about us or the punch. One reason we’ve stayed under the radar for so long is that we’re very selective about who we change. You can only imagine the chaos that would occur if the whole world became aware of this formula.”

“Yeah,” laughed Jake, “it’d be overrun with hot guys.”

“Wouldn’t that be terrible!” Charles added.

“I mean it, guys. This is a closely guarded secret for a reason. That said, if you find someone we could help as much as we helped you two, talk to me and we’ll see what we can do.”

Charles politely raised his hand and asked, “What if we decide we want to change some more? Can we come back and have more punch?”

Barry smiled, “Sorry, boys. It’s a one-time process. Trust me, Mick’s been slipping me secret doses of the stuff for years, trying to turn me into a bear, but I remain his hairless Malibu Barry. You’re not already having regrets about the bodies you chose, are you?”

Charles and Jake emphatically shook their heads. “I didn’t think so,” Barry said. “Once the outside matches the inside, we very rarely get complaints. Go get your beauty sleep and I’ll be in touch.”

The long walk back to campus gave the boys time to get used to their new bodies. Jake had the greater adjustment, having grown nearly a foot, added 100 pounds of muscle and grown silky blond hair down to his shoulders. The way his muscles shifted as he walked, the formerly meek nobody now had pride and confidence built into his manly stride. For Charles, the feeling was much more familiar. It was as if he had entered a time machine and regained the wiry body of his mid-teens with a few crucial modifications, most noticeably the substantial slab of meat which was swinging freely down the leg of his borrowed board shorts. With each step, the silky fabric rubbing against his cock threatened to send cum rocketing down his smooth swimmer’s legs.

Jake cleared his throat, still unaccustomed to the deep tones that now emanated from his voicebox. “So, what are you gonna tell your folks?”

Charles shrugged. “I’d been trying not to think about it. My dad’ll be pissed that I’m not on the football team, but I’m already thinking I’ll have a good shot at making the swim team. I could just tell him I had to slim down to improve my swimming. Not sure how I’ll explain getting four inches shorter, though.”

“Tell them you spent so much time in the pool, you shrunk.”

Charles chuckled, glad to see Jake’s humor had survived the transition. “You’ve got it easier. You can just tell your mom you had a late growth spurt.”

“This wasn’t a spurt, it was an ejaculation. She sends her wimpy kid to college, and after one night, he’s Thor.”

“Not too thore, I hope. And thinth when did you have a lithp?”

Charles grinned up at Jake, who glared down at him in mock disdain. “The lame jokes are still my department, short stuff.” He punched Charles playfully in the shoulder, causing Charles to wince in genuine pain. “Sorry, man, I have no idea how strong I am now.”

“It’s okay,” said Charles. “I don’t know yet how wimpy I am.”

Jake entwined his fingers with Charles’ and they walked hand-in-hand through the dark, quiet neighborhoods leading to campus. No one was on the streets to see them, but just the fact of openly holding hands as they walked was an uplifting new freedom for the boys.

They shared a single bed when they got back to their dorm room, and both slept soundly past noon. Once they got up, Charles looked in his closet but realized everything he owned was now far too big for him. “Hey, Jake, you’re welcome to wear any of my old stuff, if you can squeeze into it, ya big stud.”

Jake scratched his head sleepily and pointed to his own closet. “Oh, cool. You can wear anything of mine too.”

Charles examined the painfully nerdy wardrobe selection hanging in Jake’s closet. “No offense, but I think I’ll do some shopping.”

“I don’t blame you. I’d suggest we just burn my old stuff, but I’m afraid it’s made of toxic substances.”

Charles gazed into the mirror and chose to keep wearing the outfit he got from Barry. Jake took his time selecting what to wear, staggered again and again by how awesome he looked in anything he wore… and especially when he was wearing nothing at all. Charles couldn’t deny the thrill he got watching Jake display his new muscles, but after half an hour, even Charles’s monster cock started to lose interest. Charles threatened to leave without Jake, so Jake grabbed several items in a hurry and left the room wearing a tuxedo shirt, Lycra bicycle shorts and a pair of muddy work boots. Somehow nothing looked bad on this body, and this proved it. His arms felt constricted in the shirt sleeves as they swung at his side. Once the seams at his shoulders began to separate, he quickly tore off both sleeves and deposited the shredded fabric in a trash can. Charles complained about ruining a perfectly good shirt, but Jake felt much more comfortable. He couldn’t help it that Chuck’s old clothes weren’t roomy enough to contain his fabulous new bod.

Jake strode assertively into the campus cafeteria, fully conscious of all the heads turning his way. It was a new experience. For all he knew, it was technically possible that people were always staring at his old body, since his eyes were permanently fixed on the floor and he never would have noticed what other people were doing. But now, he was hyper-aware the eyes trained on his towering physique, his prominent guns flexing with each swing of his arms, his silken hair bouncing and floating with each step. Hanging back slightly, Charles enjoyed the semi-anonymity he gained by trailing in the wake of such an eye-grabber. After years of being the object of embarrassingly fawning stares, it was a relief to cede the spotlight – at least for a moment. He’d gotten his first long look at his new body in the dorm room mirror and was confident he wouldn’t suffer from lack of attention.

Jake and Charles took their food outside to the quad and sat on the grass, eating a picnic while watching the apparently never-ending touch football game in progress there. Just a typical jock and his handsome little pal sharing a meal… and discreetly whispering their observations of which of the players looked hottest.

A bit of the old inferiority crept into Jake’s deep voice. “Why are we tormenting ourselves? With our luck, they’re all straight.”

“A day ago, you probably thought I was straight.”

“For all I know, a day ago you were straight.”

Charles pondered this and mused, “I wonder what would happen if you gave the punch to someone who’s not already gay.”

“Hmm, good question. We’ll have to ask Barry.”

The football flew off course and landed on top of Jake’s submarine sandwich. The intended receiver, a gangly redhead with a profusely freckled and lightly muscled torso, skidded face-first across the grass and pounded his fist in frustration. He looked over at Jake and asked, “Hey, over here.”

Jake hesitated, staring at the football like it was an oblong turd. Charles nudged him. “Go ahead, throw it back to him.”

“I… I don’t know how.”

“Maybe your new body does.”

Uncertainly, Jake picked up the pigskin, dimly remembering something from a long-ago gym class about how to hold it. He tossed it to the freckled kid and, while not a textbook spiral, it went the distance and landed neatly in the kid’s hands. Jake smiled with pride of accomplishment and the redhead grinned back with a set of misaligned teeth which resembled a picket fence in disrepair.

“I think Ron Weasley likes you,” Charles smirked. Jake raised a fist to punch Charles, but Charles leaned away. “Uh, uh, uh. Remember, you don’t know your strength yet.”

“You’re right,” Jake nodded. Once Charles rolled back toward him, Jake subtly moved his fingers toward Charles’ midriff and tickled him.

“Stop it, stop it. Please, just punch me.”

One of the players on the skins team was down with a leg cramp, so the redhead jogged over and called to Jake, “Hey, Clay Matthews, you want to play?”

Jake muttered to Charles out of the corner of his mouth, “Who’s Clay Matthews?”

“Football player. Looks like Thor.”

Jake smiled broadly at the comparison. “Sure, I’ll play,” he yelled and bounded to his feet, stripping off his tuxedo shirt and tossing it into Charles’ face. He swung his bulging arms from side to side, vaguely approximating his idea of an athlete warming up. The redhead extended his hand to Jake and introduced himself as Erik.

“Oh, like Erik the…”

“Yeah, like Erik the Red.”

“I suppose you get that all the time.”

“Nope, you’re the first in eighteen years. Well done! And you are…?”

“Jake.”

“As in ‘Jake the Hot’?”

Jake looked baffled. “Who’s Jake the Hot?”

Erik grinned bashfully. “Aren’t you?” Erik ran toward where the other players were huddling, leaving Jake stunned. Had Erik just hit on him? Was it that obvious that he was gay? Could he expect come-ons like that all the time now? He walked over to the rest of his team, shoulders back, his confident bearing disguising the fact that he had no clue what he was doing. But he did his best, tried to follow the quarterback’s instructions, ignored all the words that he didn’t understand, ran when he was supposed to run, and actually caught a couple of balls. When one of them turned out, to his surprise, to be a touchdown, Erik leapt upon him ecstatically and the rest of the team quickly followed. Jake found himself trapped at the bottom of a pile of shirtless hotties. He had never smiled so hard in his life. If it wasn’t obvious that he was gay before, whoever was currently lying across his crotch must surely know now.

Charles watched the scene delightedly. He had stripped off his tank top to work on his tan, and was currently lying on his chest, chin propped in his hands, legs crossed in the air at the ankles.

“I recognize that ass,” came a by-now familiar voice from behind him.

Charles rolled over, blades of grass clinging to his sweaty chest and abs. He shaded his eyes to look up at Barry, who was standing with the hot midday sun directly behind his head. Barry gazed at the quad where Jake was emerging from beneath the pile of muscular arms and legs. Jake raised the football over his head victoriously and let rip a mighty roar, sounding like a freight train fueled with testosterone.

“Wow. Our little Jake is really getting into character,” said Barry.

“Yeah. He’s clueless, but he’s agile as fuck. Once he knows what he’s doing, he’ll be better than I ever was.”

Barry detected a note of sadness in Charles’s voice and knelt down beside him. “Don’t worry, Charles. I think you’re going to do just fine.”

Charles nodded. “Hey, we had a question. What happens if you give the formula to somebody who’s not gay?”

Barry pondered the question. “I dunno. Everyone who’s taken it was gay.”

“You mean before or after they took it?”

“Well, before and after.”

“But are you sure? I mean how could you be absolutely sure they were gay beforehand? Is your gaydar that infallible?”

“Well, sweetie, it’s pretty infallible. What are you trying to imply? That you weren’t gay before last night and I turned you gay?”

“No,” said Charles… although now that he heard it expressed out loud… But that was beside the point. “Still… wouldn’t you be curious to see what it did to a straight guy?”

“I’d have to run it past Mick I’m not sure it’s ever been tried. I’m not sure it would be safe.”

“Not safe? You’re secretly making people drink some mystery fluid that alters their entire body structure in a matter of minutes. I’d say that’s inherently not safe!”

Barry put a finger to his lips and shushed Charles. “Not so loud, sweetie. What did I tell you about keeping this quiet? But trust me, you have nothing to worry about. The procedure is absolutely safe. I’ve watched hundreds of these transformations over the decades and… “

“What? Decades? How the hell old are you?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention that?” Barry grinned. “Once you get your ideal body, it stays that way. Forever.”

Charles rolled onto his back and contemplated this development. He grinned as his fingers idly stroked his abs.

The foursome of Charles, Barry, Jake and Erik sat in the student union, watching the student bodies of the student body stroll past in their skimpy late-summer clothes. Jake and Erik were talking softly, getting better acquainted, while Charles and Barry amused themselves with a game of “Spot the Straight”. To Barry it was still purely hypothetical, but Charles’s curiosity was nearly as aroused as his libido. (Under the table, Barry’s hand was sliding slowly up and down the growing lump in Charles’s board shorts.)

Charles nodded in the direction of a crew-cut lantern-jawed obvious ROTC member in an obscenely tight white tee and camo pants. “Ooh, how about him?”

Barry shook his head. “No challenge. Seriously, how much gayer could he get?”

“Okay, what about that guy?” Charles’s glance directed Barry’s attention to an average-looking kid of average build and average height and a face that could best be described as non-descript.

“Bo-ring. That probably is his ideal body. If we’re really going to do this, it needs to be someone who needs a boost to be their truest self. Someone who needs that extra bit of courage that the punch provides, just like you and Jake did.”

Charles scanned the room, losing faith in his quest, until he finally whispered, “Bingo.”

Following Charles’s gaze, Barry knew immediately who he was looking at, floundering in the middle of the room, looking hopelessly for an open seat. He must have weighed 300 pounds at a height of only five-seven. His gut seemed to ooze like lava over the waistline of his black pants, barely held in by his white button-down shirt. Flabby pale arms hung from his sleeves as he clung to a cafeteria tray heaped with the unhealthiest food on the menu. As he looked forlornly around the room, it was easy to follow his swiveling head as he made no effort to disguise that he was staring at the most voluptuous women who walked past him. The women, of course, paid him no attention whatever.

Charles declared, “Talk about someone who needs courage.”

Barry snarked, “He could probably also use a brain. And if he keeps eating like that, he definitely will need a new heart.”

“Come on, that guy’s practically begging for our help.”

For the first time, Barry seemed tempted. “A bit too obvious, don’t you think?”

“That’s why he’s perfect. Any change is going to be better. If he turns into a hetero stud, all those women he’s gawking at will suddenly give him the time of day. And if he does turn gay… well, it’s bound to be more sex than he’s getting. Right now, he’s the invisible man.”

“How can anyone that big be invisible?”

Charles looked pleadingly at Barry, who finally sagged in surrender. “Okay, you can approach him. Don’t ever say I didn’t give you anything.”

“Sweetie, you already have given me more than you know.” Charles slid out, carefully adjusting his hard-on as he stood up and edged his way nimbly through the crowd. The heavyset guy seemed stunned when Charles began to talk to him and gesture toward the open seat at their table.

Jake had peripherally noticed the blur as Charles rose from the table and dashed off. He asked Barry, “What’s Charles doing?”

“He wants to conduct an ‘experiment’,” Barry replied with a knowing undertone.

Charles caught the implication and said, “I don’t suppose you could conduct two experiments.” He tilted his head toward Erik, whose wide eyes and hopeful grin made it clear to Barry what Charles and Erik had been so feverishly discussing.

Barry winced. “Do you kids these days know what a secret is? Jesus. I may be getting too old for this.”

Mick swung open the door, none too pleased with being awakened by an urgent call from Barry, requesting a batch of punch for a couple new recruits. Before him stood Barry, Charles and Jake, with an excited skinny ginger and a confused obese man looming behind them. Mick gestured for them to enter, then trudged back upstairs, his assless leather chaps providing the gang their last glimpse of their nominal host. “Bad idea, Barry,” he called back to his apprentice. “Bad idea.”

Hoping to overcome the sour tone Mick had lent to the proceedings, Barry eagerly corralled the throng to the punch table. Unlike last night, Mick had gone to no effort to make the room festive. There was no punch bowl, no snacks, no tablecloth. Just two old jelly jars three-quarters full of the magical elixir. “Here’s the stuff we’ve been talking about. Are you boys ready to try it?”

Erik stepped forward eagerly, having heard Jake’s vivid description of the transformation process. He grabbed a jar, brought it to his lips and glugged it down greedily. He held it as high as possible to make sure every drop made it into his mouth.

The overweight guy, who’d informed Charles that his name was Steve, watched Erik to see what happened to him. The room seemed to be on pause as everyone stared at Erik, who was impatient for the change to kick in.

“It doesn’t happen right away,” Barry told them. “These guys can tell you. It took a few minutes to spread through their systems.” He lifted the second jar and handed it to Steve.

Eager to see the change, Charles hung on Steve’s arm and whispered encouragingly. “Just drink it, Steve, and think about your ideal body.”

Steve thought about it seriously, then suddenly chugged the contents of the jar, seemingly in a single swallow.

The waiting continued in silence. Finally, a spasm hit Erik, jolting his shoulders forward. Jake watched him eagerly and shouted, “Take off your clothes. I want to watch it happen.”

Erik’s inhibitions were already swept away by the warm tingle of the drink spreading through his system. He wriggled out of his shiny soccer jersey and dropped his running shorts. Everyone’s attention turned to Steve, who remained extremely self-conscious. Clearly he wouldn’t be disrobing.

Barry tilted his head to Charles, indicating that he should take Steve aside and try to get him into the spirit of things. Charles ushered Steve to a chair and stood behind him, massaging his hefty shoulders. “It’s okay, Steve, just relax. Let your mind drift. You shouldn’t be thinking about anything but your ideal body.”

Across the room, Jake sat cross-legged on the floor at Erik’s feet and issued similar instructions. “Think about a perfect body that you’d like to have. Envision it clearly.”

Erik stared directly at Jake and smiled, his jagged teeth clearly on display. “I’m doing it now.”

Jake rubbed his hands together as Erik’s body was wracked with a sudden jolt. Erik dropped to his knees on the hard floor and fell forward, his anemic arms bracing him from toppling face-first onto the parquet.

“I feel it happening!” Erik screamed as his arms and chest seemingly began to bubble. In a regular rhythm, as the formula surged with each heartbeat, the magical force pulsated through his spindly body. He was crouched in a football stance now, staring through his bushy eyebrows into the eyes of the Nordic god seated before him. He gritted his teeth and Jake watched in amazement as the teeth reformed themselves before his eyes, from a ragged overlapping set of eyesores into a gleaming set of perfect choppers. Jake smiled his own immaculate grin right back at Erik and stared deeply into Erik’s eyes as they shifted from an unremarkable hazel into a hypnotic deep blue. The bump caused by a teenage nose break miraculously straightened itself out and Erik’s splotchy freckled skin began to take on an evenness of tone.

It was the most erotic thing Jake had ever seen. The tattered tuxedo shirt he’d been wearing all day was soaked with sweat and barely buttoned. He yanked it from his frame, sending buttons skittering across the polished floor, and flung the wadded shirt ten yards across the room. He pulled down his bicycle shorts, giving Erik his first clear view of something he’d been ogling the outlines of all afternoon. Jake began to stroke his cock, making it rise quickly to a full erection. Erik grunted hungrily at the sight and his body was wracked with another intense wave of energy. He leaned back, putting the palms of his hands flat on the floor for support.

Charles and Steve watched this scene from across the room. Steve remained unchanged. “Nothing?” Charles asked. Steve shook his head apologetically. Charles shrugged to Barry, who was now convinced that the punch had no effect on straight people.

With considerable effort, Steve pushed himself up on the arms of the chair and said, “Maybe I should just go. I don’t think I belong here.”

“Nonsense,” said Charles. “Maybe you just need to focus harder. Just keep saying to yourself, ‘my ideal body, my ideal body… ’”

Steve unenthusiastically mumbled “My ideal body” over and over for about thirty seconds, when suddenly he felt a jolt in his chest. He raised a blubbery arm toward the source of the pain and his face turned red. Under normal circumstances, you might have thought he was having a heart attack. Normal circumstances didn’t happen in this room.

Steve’s eyes widened as his white shirt began to balloon around him. He couldn’t remember a time when air had come between his skin and his shirt. The flabby lumps of flesh which Charles had been massaging to calm Steve down suddenly melted under Charles’s fingers. From his position behind Steve, Charles could easily see individual hairs getting longer on Steve’s head, curling as they began to stretch down his neck. Steve’s new skinnier fingers clutched the arms of the chair as unfamiliar sensations flooded his crotch and strange thoughts passed through his mind. Cockily, Charles looked at Barry and mouthed, “Told ya.”

Barry was in the process of flipping Charles the bird when Erik yowled orgasmically. The shout bounced around the room for several seconds as Erik’s body expanded dramatically. His skin stretched as if it could barely accommodate his ripening pecs, shoulders and biceps. Where earlier there had been scarcely a hint of ab muscles were now distinct depressions, as if someone had pressed an ice-cube tray into his flesh. The reddish hue of his skin now liquefied into a rich golden brown that seemed to coat his body like maple syrup.

As Erik hung his head back, his hair began to lighten and lengthen. He yanked the front of his shorts down to reveal his cock, a three-incher which was swallowed up by his fingers. He lowered his chin to his chest and stared hungrily through his newly blond bangs at the throbbing eleven inches clutched in Jake’s fist. As if on command, Erik’s cock surged within his grip and grew, longer and thicker, veins visibly pumping along its side, until it exceeded even Jake’s monster. Jake could no longer resist, scrambling forward and wrapping his lips around Erik’s appendage. The transformation finally subsiding, Erik lay on his side and began to suck on Jake’s dripping hard-on.

Barry watched them 69ing with fascination, idly stroking himself as he marveled at their two sculpted bodies. “They’re like mirror images,” he thought. Then a realization struck so profoundly that it even stopped him from masturbating. “Holy fuck, they are mirror images.” The mighty head of bleached-blond hair bobbing on Jake’s cock was exactly like the mighty coif on the head going to town over Erik’s cock. When he thought of every change that had occurred to Erik’s body, it had transformed him into a duplicate of Jake. When they told him to envision his idea of the perfect body he’d like to have, Erik showed no imagination. He simply stared at the hunk before him and willed himself to become just like him. Except for his cock which, true to cliche, had to be just a little bigger than his dream guy’s cock.

In all his years of overseeing transformations, he’d never seen anyone turn himself into a Xerox of someone else. You’d think he would have seen his share of nondescript gay boys morphing into Brad Pitt or Joe Mangianello or any number of porn stars, but everyone had more personal, distinctive preferences for how they would change themselves. Erik was the first to surrender his own identity to that of his object of desire. A disturbing lack of imagination, thought Barry. But they sure looked hot blowing each other. Barry’s cock sprung back to life as he turned off his critical eye and just enjoyed the view.

He was roused from his reverie by Charles shaking him vigorously.

“Can’t you see I’m busy here?”

Charles was nose to nose with Barry, looking freaked out. “We’ve got our answer to what happens.”

He pointed across the room to the chair where Steve had been sitting. The clothes were familiar, but the collar of the white shirt had slipped down to reveal the curve of a slender shoulder. The pants hung heavily upon now skinny legs. Thick curls of brown hair tumbled their way past the shoulder blades. Barry had seen his share of twink transformations, but this was the most extreme yet. Still, everyone’s got their weird fetish. Barry waved to the latest change-ee. “Hey there.”

Through her pouty lips, this newly formed vixen whispered a sultry, “Hi, boys.”

The two identical blond musclemen spooned each other on the hardwood floor, Herculean arm wrapped around Herculean arm. The one in the rear rested his head on the other’s bulging shoulder, their two enormous heads of hair entangled together. As they slept peacefully, their chests expanded and contracted in unison with each breath, as if they were a single immense creature. These were Jake and Erik.

Across the room, a raven-haired beauty sat on the floor, leaning against a wooden chair. She wore nothing but an oversized white button-down shirt, her bare toned legs splayed out before her, a dainty hand lazily stroking her pubic hair as she dozed. At the moment, let’s still call her Steve.

Neither of these two tableaus attracted the attention of the vast room’s other occupants. A dark and hairy muscle beast sat at a table, holding back his voluminous hair with one hand as he flipped through a dusty leather-bound book with the other. Two slim but athletic men hovered on either side of him, although the book used an unfamiliar stylized alphabet to form strange words which neither of the handsome twinks could decipher.

Mick, the hairy one studying the tome carefully, let loose a soft but intrigued “Hmmm.” Charles and Barry leaned forward for a closer look at whatever had caught Mick’s attention, as if the peculiar curlicues on the page might suddenly have reshaped themselves into legible English. It didn’t seem impossible, as several other dramatic reshapings had occurred in this room in the last two days.

“Well, I’ll be,” said Mick, leaning back with his fingers interlaced behind his head, flexing his powerful hairy arms.

Barry eagerly asked, “What is it?”

Mick, looking surprised and slightly embarrassed, spoke without turning to look at Barry and Charles. “I’ve been translating it wrong all this time. It appears that the potion doesn’t turn you into the shape that you most desire to look like. It remakes you into the image that you most desire.”

Barry was upset. “That’s a big fucking difference. How could you get that wrong?”

Mick gave the book a thump, nearly collapsing the table with the power of his fist. “You try reading this shit. A six-hundred-year-old book of spells and potions, written in a secret code? I think it’s a miracle I even got the recipe right and was able to track down all the ingredients. Working in a university lab helped, but it’s not like you can just requisition a kilo of eye of newt.”

Barry backed off. “Sorry, Mick. I’m in no position to complain. So what else does it say?”

Grumbling, Mick turned back to the cryptic text and realized the relevant passage continued onto the next page. He flipped the heavy parchment and translated the new section on the fly. “It appears that it was initially developed in medieval times as a way to prove adultery. Initially, those suspected were dunked into a vat of the solution, but they later discovered that just drinking a small amount would produce the same effect. If the potion turned you into someone other than your spouse, you obviously were more attracted to someone else. It apparently took a long time to discover that the physical change was irreversible because nearly everyone turned into someone other than their spouse and were immediately burned at the stake. But if a man turned into a handsomer man or a woman into a more beautiful woman, they weren’t burned. Instead, they were ostracized and forced to live in windowless rooms. It came to be known as… living in the closet.” Mick closed the book thoughtfully.

Charles gazed down at his lithe frame – a trimmer, more streamlined body than the brawny football physique he arrived in – then across the room at the hugging Hulk Hogans and the snoozing seductress who had been an overweight non-entity before entering this room. Mick’s new translation seemed to explain the circumstances much more logically, if anything here could be described as logical. “That makes sense to me. Erik liked how Jake looked so much that he wanted to become him. And Steve over there was so entranced by women that, when I told him to think of his ideal body, all he could think about was gorgeous women.”

“Hang on a second, Sherlock,” interrupted Barry. “How do we know Steve wasn’t secretly yearning to be a woman all along?”

“Because your infallible gaydar told you he was straight.”

Barry hesitated, realizing that in order to be right in this argument, he’d have to admit he was wrong about his gaydar.

“And then there’s me. I was totally happy with my body when I met you.”

“I would have been too,” said Barry.

“But after I drank the punch, I found myself thinking about the all the guys that had ever turned me on, and they were all runners, surfers and especially swimmers. That’s who I ideally wanted to be with, if I’d only been honest and self-confident enough about my own orientation. But it’s not like a guy who looked like I did would’ve had any trouble picking up someone who looked like I do now. I would totally let my old body fuck my new body.”

Barry wanted clarification. “So you’re now admitting that you were gay before the switch.”

Charles gave it some thought and nodded. “I’d say I was at least 80% gay.”

Barry sighed with relief. “Good, because honestly, I was only about 80% sure.”

Mick pounded his fists on the table and pushed back his chair, its heavy legs screeching across the wooden floor. He stood to his full height and loomed menacingly over Barry. “Only eighty percent? And tonight you bring me someone totally straight? You and I need to talk.” He pivoted and lumbered to the staircase. He paused, looked back and bellowed, “Now!”

Leaping at Mick’s command, Barry raced across the room, calling back to Charles. “You should get them dressed and home. I’ll call you later.” Barry followed Mick upstairs, dreading this conversation.

Charles tiptoed over to the still-dozing couple. Lightly jostling one of their arms, he whispered “Jake?” Unsure if he’d gotten the right person, he shook the other one’s arm and asked “Jake?”. He crossed his arms, unable to tell the difference between them. He finally clapped his hands and announced, “Rise and shine, He-Man. And He-Man 2.”

Grumbling, the two behemoths started to stir. Only when they separated and rolled onto their backs could Charles identify Jake as the one with the slightly smaller but still enormous cock. Erik’s eyelids cracked open as he tried to sit up, his unaccustomed bulk coming as a surprise to him. When he noticed Jake lying beside him, the evening’s events slowly came back to him, and he and his lookalike began to make out again.

Charles wearily told them, “There’s plenty of time for that. You need to get dressed so we can get out of here.”

Charles approached Steve gingerly, figuring he… well, she… would have the more difficult realization to cope with. He knelt in front of her and shook her shoulders gently. Her long lashes parted and she peered at Charles’s face hovering before her. In a smoky but definitely female voice, she purred, “Well, hello, handsome.”

“Hi. Do you know where you are?”

She craned her neck to look around the cavernous room with its stained glass windows depicting naked men, and saw what looked like two pro wrestlers getting dressed. She shook her head.

“Do you know who you are?”

She looked at her delicate arms, her elegant legs stretched before her. She even glanced down the front of her shirt at what would be C-cup breasts if she were wearing a bra. None of this seemed familiar, but she seemed happy enough.

“How about your name? Do you remember that?”

She thought as hard as she could, but her mind seemed filled with cobwebs this morning. She giggled and shrugged at the cute boy.

“Well, let’s just call you Stephanie for now. C’mon, let’s get moving.” He offered a hand and pulled her to her feet. The only indication that this petite brunette had ever been an overweight dude was the enormous white shirt which now hung down to her knees. Charles looked at Erik, who was holding his soccer jersey in front of him and laughing. It looked like a baby’s onesie in contrast to the bulk of his torso now. An idea struck Charles.

“Hey, Erik, I think your clothes will fit Stephanie here. And hers ought to fit you.”

They stopped in a diner on their way back to campus. Jake and Erik were devouring identical breakfasts that occupied most of the table. Erik fit easily into Steve’s white shirt, although they had to punch an extra hole into the belt to get Steve’s pants to stay on Erik’s body with its far narrower waistline. Stephanie nibbled on a fruit plate, her curves nicely filling out Erik’s tight soccer jersey. Charles guzzled coffee while digging through Steve’s backpack for a name, address or other identifying information. Even Steve’s cell phone offered few hints, as there were no numbers saved in speed dial. Man, this guy really didn’t have any friends. Maybe her current state of confusion was a good thing. She could get on more easily with her new life if she retained no memories of her old one. Under the table, Stephanie slid her foot seductively along the back of Charles’s firm calf. Charles gently pushed her away, telling her, “Sorry, but I’m firmly on the boys’ team now.” Stephanie didn’t seem to understand and traced one of her long fingernails seductively along the vein atop Charles’s biceps.

Charles realized he hadn’t checked his cell phone for messages since this whole adventure had begun and noticed five missed calls, all from the same number. He listened to the first, from yesterday morning. It was from the football coach, Coach Phelps, asking why he wasn’t at practice. The calls became more and more irritated through the day, eventually threatening to revoke Charles’ football scholarship if he didn’t reply to these messages. He realized he needed to deal with this as soon as he could, although he had no idea how he would explain the dramatic changes that had occurred to him since the coach last saw him. He decided to call Barry for advice. When he reached him, Barry sounded harried and distracted.

“Everything okay?”

“Uh, not exactly. I can’t talk about it right now. What do you need?”

“I’ve got to explain to the football coach why I haven’t been at practice… and why I don’t look like a wide receiver any more. I thought maybe you’d dealt with this kind of situation before and could give me some advice.”

“Where are you now?”

“Eating breakfast. Jake and Erik are chowing down something fierce.”

“Okay, swing by the practice field and I’ll meet you there. How’s the girl?”

“She’s still not saying anything. I think she’s got amnesia.”

“That happens sometimes when the change is too massive. They go into shock. Just keep her with you.”

Stephanie leaned her head on Charles’s shoulder. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

The football team was having their first practice of the day when Charles and the others arrived at the field. Charles lurked in the shadows of a grove of trees, not wanting to be seen by Coach Phelps until he’d gotten advice from Barry. Stephanie remained obediently by his side, while Jake and Erik had been roped into an impromptu soccer game in a nearby park. If they hadn’t been on opposite teams, there would be no way for Charles to tell them apart, but Jake was on the skins team and Erik on shirts. Or, wait, was it Erik on skins… ? Regardless, they both showed great hustle and finesse and Charles shook his head in amazement. By wishing himself to become like the jocks he admired, Jake’s brain and body seemed to have been reprogrammed with the know-how and reflexes to actually become a jock. Charles hadn’t sensed a similar radical change in mindset since his own transformation, but he did acknowledge a decrease in ambition. In his old body, he’d have been right out there in the park, scrambling after that soccer ball. Now he felt content to kick back… and if what Barry had told him was true about his body never changing post-transformation, he wouldn’t even need to work out any more to keep his body looking this good.

Charles noticed Barry in the distance, wearing his male cheerleading outfit and a backpack and carrying an overstuffed dufflebag. He whistled to draw Barry’s attention. Barry spotted Charles among the trees and jogged over. “What’s with the luggage?”

“Mick threw me out.”

“Aw, that’s too bad.”

“Said he couldn’t trust me any more and that we should have stuck to the plan of only transforming gay men. Sudden muscle growth is noticeable enough, but once you start swapping people’s genders, it really starts to attract unwanted attention. I think he’s been wanting an excuse to find a new recruiter for a while. Someone more his type. Which is fine by me. I’d like to find someone more my type too.” His eyes lingered a second or two on Charles, long enough for Charles to catch his meaning. But there were more urgent matters to deal with at the moment.

“So,” Charles asked, “how do you propose dealing with Coach Phelps?”

“Well, I’ve been a cheerleader for a looong time, so I’ve had plenty of chances to observe the coach up close.”

“Don’t they get suspicious that the same guy has been on the cheerleading squad for a couple decades?”

“Every few years, I take a season or two off, then re-enroll, supposedly as another brother from the same family. Nobody ever puts the pieces together, because how could I be the same guy and always be the same age? But I do love hanging around the football stadium. Between the male cheerleaders and the punting squad, there are always a few likely new change-ees every fall. And I’m telling you, I know some things about Coach Phelps which should come in handy for us.”

“Like what?”

“Well, you know how I was 80% sure about you? I’m 110% sure about Coach Phelps.”

Charles’s jaw dropped. “No fucking way. He seems like such a typical jock.”

“And so did you.” Barry grinned confidently. “But, if his furtive glances at me over the years are any clue, you’re just his type now. All we need to do is get him to hit on you. You threaten that you’ll charge him with sexual harassment unless he lets you off the team, and voila, you’re off the team.”

“Wait, even if he is gay like you say, he’s never gonna endanger his job and make a pass at me.”

“Sure he will. All we have to do is give him the courage to make the first move.”

With that, Barry unzipped his backpack and revealed a gallon jug full of the notorious punch. He waggled his eyebrows at the dumbstruck Charles.

“Mick let you take that?”

“I smuggled it out. Figured I could find some use for it now that I’m on my own. Just have to ration it wisely.”

“So you’re gonna give that to the coach?”

“Just a little. Diluted in his water bottle. Not enough to change him, just enough to give him… the urge.”

While the rest of the team was practicing on the field and the cheerleaders worked out their routines nearby, Charles strode along the sidelines, cautiously approaching Coach Phelps. Obviously Charles’s gaydar hadn’t had as much practice as Barry’s, but he still found it hard to believe that the chubby red-faced middle-aged coach standing before him in a warmup jacket and red shorts was gay. He radiated an almost over-the-top machismo, with a bullying attitude toward his players, but as far as Charles could see, the only thing he liked to blow was his whistle.

Phelps tooted that whistle to stop the play and took a squirt from his water bottle. He shouted some instructions to his players, then let out another whistle to signal them to try the play again. Charles walked closer to the coach and cleared his throat.

“Coach, hi.”

Coach gave a sideways glance at the slender kid, then quickly turned his attention back to the football field. “Yeah? What do you want?”

“I’m Charles… I mean, Chuck Tobler. I’m a new freshman wide receiver. You called me about missing practices.”

“Oh, yeah, Tobler.” He turned and looked down at Charles. “You’re not Tobler. Tobler’s a big guy.” The coach studied him for a moment and said, “You do kinda look like him, though. What are you, his kid brother?”

It hadn’t occurred to Charles, but that was the perfect explanation, just like Barry’s ruse of constantly being another younger brother to stay on the cheerleading squad. He also knew he needed to keep the coach’s attention, as Barry was behind the coach’s back, sneaking toward his water bottle with the jug of punch.

“Yeah, that’s what I meant, I’m here for Chuck. See, he’s gotten really sick and he’s not gonna be able to play for you anymore.”

“If he’s sick, why doesn’t he call me? I’ll have him see the team doctor.”

As the coach turned back toward the bench and grabbed his water bottle, Barry scrambled to hide behind the team’s Gatorade thermoses. The coach took a swig from his bottle, swishing it around his mouth before spitting it out. Something about the water tasted… unusual. But not in a bad way.

From behind the Gatorade containers, Barry gave a thumbs-up to Charles. Charles acknowledged him with a nod. Just then, the other cheerleaders noticed Barry. One of the stronger male cheerleaders called over to him. “Hey, Barry where you been hiding?”

Barry stood up, hoping not to attract the coach’s attention. “Oh, nowhere. Just been busy is all.”

“Well, would you care to join us for practice?” asked the cheerleader.

“Uh. Sure. Yeah. Be right over.”

Hiding his backpack and knapsack behind the Gatorade containers, Barry mouthed “Good luck” to Charles, then headed over to practice with the rest of the cheer squad.

The coach took another drink from his bottle, getting used to the taste. Charles shouted to regain the coach’s attention.

“What my brother’s got, I don’t think the team doctor can fix.”

The coach looked bemused. “Oh, really. Are you an expert? You studying pre-med in your junior high, kid?”

He reached over and rubbed Charles’ buzzcut good-naturedly. “You seem like a nice kid. You tell your brother to call me when he’s feeling better and we’ll forget all about it. I see a big future for your big brother.” He winked at Charles and took another long drag from the water bottle. The coach started to wobble.

“You okay, coach?” asked Charles, realizing the potion must be kicking in.

“Yeah, fine, just a little light-headed. Probably the heat.” He took another drink of water, then stumbled. Charles rushed over to catch him before he could hit the ground.

“Maybe you should go inside to your office to cool off,” Charles suggested.

The coach wiped the sweat from his brow and said, “Yeah, maybe that’s a good idea.” He blew his whistle anemically, and called weakly to his team, “Let’s take a ten-minute break, boys. Stay hydrated.”

Coach Phelps began to walk toward his office, stripping off his warmup jacket to cool down, revealing a white polo bearing the team logo. Charles clung to his arm, supporting him as they walked. Once they got inside, the coach’s demeanor changed. He seemed relieved to get out of the sun. He thanked Charles for helping him and told him he could go now.

“I don’t think you understand, coach. He’s lost a lot of muscle mass. I mean, you wouldn’t put somebody like me on the team, would you?”

Feeling oddly relaxed, the coach stared at Charles’s well-developed arms and thin but muscular legs. “Well, you couldn’t play your brother’s position, but I bet I could think of a couple positions for a nice boy like you.”

This was getting unsettling for Charles. He was beginning to have doubts about Barry’s plan.

Just then, the coach put a hand to his forehead and leaned back in his swivel chair. “Whoa, I’m feeling dizzy. Kid, could you go get the doc… ?”

The chair toppled backwards and the coach bumped his head on the painted cement floor. Charles rushed over and knelt down beside him.

“Where does it hurt, coach?”

The coach’s eyes remained closed, but a smile came to his lips. “It doesn’t hurt, exactly. It’s more like a warm comfortable feeling, right about here.” He placed his hand over the center of his chest. Charles could see where this was heading. He was tempted to run, get as far away as possible, but he was too curious to see what was going to happen next.

Coach Phelps began to moan, as staccato bursts of pleasure shot through his body. The roundness of his gut began to recede and the arms flung to his sides started to lose their floppiness. Charles inched closer for a better view. He studied the coach’s face, as the skin started to tighten up around his bone structure and his crow’s feet and forehead wrinkles started to smooth out. He started to look handsome, even cute, the way he might have in his own college days. His greying crew cut began to darken and get longer, sticking out in all directions. His shirt seemed way too big for him now. The calves extending from his oversize shorts were no longer bulbous and matted with thick hair. If anything, you could now call him bony, and his body hair was shedding all over the office floor.

As the coach continued to moan and stuck a scrawny hand down his shorts, Charles felt he had seen enough. He raced outside to get Barry, who was tossing a sexy brunette into the air and catching her. Out of breath, Charles pulled Barry aside. “Sorry to interrupt your practice, but we have a major situation. The coach is twinking out.”

Barry laughed heartily. “You’re kidding. That’s awesome!”

“That wasn’t the plan. You were supposed to dilute it in his water.”

“Well, yeah, but this isn’t an exact science. I have no idea how much punch triggers the full transformation.”

“So you just dosed the guy?”

“I made a guesstimate. Relax. He should be thanking us. Now he can finally be open about who he really is. He’ll probably be the first openly gay football coach in the NCAA.”

Charles backed away from Barry, suddenly frightened. “You’re dangerous, dude. You can’t be trusted with the formula. I’m dumping the rest of it out!” He rushed over to Barry’s bags and started searching for the jug. Barry ran over and tackled Charles, who was rummaging frantically through the backpack.

A strapping football player looked down at the wrestling twinks and laughed. “What are you guys doing?”

Charles screamed, “Have you seen a jug of punch that was in here?”

“What, you mean this?” The football player held up the jug. Only a tiny trickle of liquid continued to slosh around the bottom of the clear plastic jug. “The Gatorade ran out, so we started drinking this. It’s a hell of a lot better. What’s in it?”

Charles and Barry stared at the empty jug, then back at the football player, stunned. Barry buried his face in the grass, sobbing that his supply of the precious fluid was already gone. After several seconds, his body was wracked with convulsions and he rolled onto his back. Charles noticed that Barry was crying, but the giant smile on Barry’s face indicated that they were tears of laughter.

“Oh, my god. The whole team had some punch?” Barry clutched his sides. He’d never been so amused in his life. “Guess we’ll sort out the men’s men from the ladies’ men now.”

The brunette that Barry had been tossing in the air walked over and asked, “Barry, do you really think I can get on the cheer squad?” Charles shaded his eyes and realized it was Stephanie standing above them. Another wave of laughter passed through Barry’s body, and even Charles had to laugh about the absurdity of the situation.

Stephanie put her hands on her hips and harrumphed, “What’s so funny?” but neither Charles nor Barry had the breath to answer. She shook her head and said, “Boys”, then walked back toward the cheerleading squad. A hunky cheerleader approached her and offered to give her a toss.

A round-faced kid with an unruly shock of brown hair hanging in his eyes stumbled past the bleachers in an oversized white polo, holding up his red shorts with both hands so they wouldn’t slide down his skinny legs. He appeared dazed, not knowing where or even who he was. He certainly seemed out of place on the football field, unless he was the team’s new waterboy. He took a seat on the bleachers, exhausted. Leaning his chin in his hands, his eyes were drawn to the two cute boys lying on the sidelines laughing. He felt a stirring in his oversize Jockey shorts.

Jake and Erik strolled over from the park, both now shirtless, sweaty and smeared with dirt and grass from playing soccer. Jake’s arm was draped affectionately around Erik’s shoulders, and Erik’s hand was wrapped around Jake’s waist.

On the sidelines, two of the football team’s star players watched Jake and Erik approaching. “Whoa, check out the twins,” said one before taking a swig of punch.

The other player finished his glass of punch and smacked his lips. “Wonder if they want to play for our team.”

Turns out Mick was right to be concerned about the havoc that could be caused by giving the body-changing formula to straight people. When twelve members of the college’s football team suddenly turned into women, it did not go unnoticed.

That six of their teammates, including the starting quarterback, simultaneously came out as gay, that drew plenty of attention too. (Considering that only eighteen of the players had any of the punch, even Barry and his supposedly infallible gaydar was surprised at that ratio.)

This mass transformation was quite something to see, especially for the foursome watching on the sidelines. Charles, Barry, Jake and Erik all had been through this transition in the past 48 hours and knew what to expect, but seeing so many people simultaneously changing into the bodies they most desired was eye-opening. Barry, who’d witnessed hundreds of these morphings over the years, offered his catty running commentary of the changes, like Tim Gunn after a pitcher of mojitos.

“These straight boys are sooo predictable,” he whined as one player after another grew long wavy hair and began to fondle the double-D breasts that were unexpectedly bulging under their practice jerseys. The arrival of these enormous racks tended to distract the players from the radical reorganization happening below their waists, as the bulges in their crotches receded and their hips and butts reshaped themselves into more feminine contours. Playboy had their entire next year’s worth of Playmates groping themselves right there on the gridiron.

“Their asses do look nice in those tight football pants, though,” Charles commented. Barry, Jake and Erik all stared at him, concerned about his queer credentials after such a comment. “I’m just saying aesthetically.”

Jake and Erik nodded, with Jake adding, “It is kind of a turn-on, knowing they started out as guys’ asses.” Erik nodded and he and Jake sealed their agreement with an exploding fist bump.

Barry was still giving Charles the stink-eye. “I still think you’re 20% straight.”

Charles grinned. “Just as long as my cock is in the 80%.”

The changes among the gay players were much more varied and indicative of the individuals’ likes, dislikes and fetishes. A tight end lived up to his title, as his muscular buttocks shrank into a firm and shapely ass, and the rest of his body shrank proportionally. One of the tackles revealed a surprising preference as he became shorter… and shorter… and shorter, his head remaining the same size and his body continuing to be extremely buff – until he was now what the non-politically-correct would describe as a muscular midget. Two of the running backs, one of Nordic stock with a mop of blondish curls, the other a shaved-head African-American, began to eye each other as soon as the formula started kicking in. Their body shapes didn’t change much, but the white guy’s blindingly pale skin became infused with melanin and his curls darkened and kinked into a close-cropped afro. His teammate’s skin went from deep black to caramel colored to a sunburnt pink in a matter of seconds, which better matched his new blond mohawk and pale blue eyes. The two kissed each other midfield and fell to the turf, rolling in the grass with obvious intimacy. Barry pointed to them and remarked, “I have a feeling those two were already a couple. Just not so openly.”

The stocky center found himself shrinking dramatically, suddenly swamped in his oversized jersey as his heavy facial stubble and Neanderthal eyebrows receded, making him far less intimidating. His eyes changed to a brilliant green and his lips became soft and permanently pursed. All that remained unchanged were his glutes, which now looked absurdly large on this slinky body. The quarterback changed the least, his narcissism being so great that his ideal fuckmate was apparently himself with a longer tongue and a longer shlong. He ogled the familiar curvature of his center’s backside, which he had stared at during every snap for the past two seasons. Unable to resist, he strode over to the center, pulled down the center’s shiny pants and prepared to ram him with the foot-long appendage which was climbing its way over his waistband. The quarterback licked his lips with a tongue which could now reach the tip of his nose or the bottom of his chin. He spat in his hands and rubbed them along the length of his cock for lubrication. As if by habit, the center got into his hiking stance and braced for the quarterback to put his backfield in motion.

Charles suddenly became aware of a hubbub among the cheerleading squad. He nudged Barry to bring his attention to the transformations occurring there. “Oh my. Looks like the football players shared their drinks,” Barry observed. One male cheerleader who had always triggered Barry’s alarm bells stared down as his sweater unraveled with the strain of his inflating limbs and torso. His already hairless body ballooned into that of a competition bodybuilder, but with no steroids to adversely affect the bulge in his shorts. His skin acquired an unnaturally deep tan as muscle built upon muscle.

The head cheerleader, by far the prettiest on the team, was initially aghast to see man-sized biceps and quads growing on her slender frame. An unnatural straining grew in her panties that was barely hidden by her short skirt, and with it her senses felt an infusion of testosterone, which eased her anxiety and inflated her confidence. Her chin became more angular, her cheekbones less pronounced, but her overall beauty remained, her long lashes and beauty mark only accenting the handsomeness of her new more manly attributes. Now unmistakably masculine at over six feet, granite-carved abs and wisps of dark hair showing in the gap between his tight sweater and skimpy flared skirt, the cheerleader’s altered center of gravity made walking in heeled boots unsteady. He knelt down to remove them when the mysterious Stephanie who had been hanging with the cheerleaders all morning rushed over and asked if she could help him. The two locked eyes and felt an immediate unspoken bond.

Suddenly, Barry panicked. “Where’s the jug? My prints are all over it!” As Barry searched frantically for the empty jug that had contained the last of his pilfered punch, Charles looked to the bleachers where the skinny kid who used to be Coach Phelps had been sitting before the other transformations began. He wasn’t there, or anywhere in the vicinity that Charles could see.

Barry spotted the empty jug lying on the grass near where the quarterback was pounding his cock into his center’s stunning ass. Barry stared at the quarterback’s firm buttocks surging back and forth, still sheathed in tight shiny football pants. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” Barry said as he gave the quarterback’s butt a congratulatory swat. “Good job!”

Barry was still chuckling when he reached the sidelines and stuffed the empty jug into his backpack. Charles expressed his concern that the coach had wandered away, but Barry assured Charles that Phelps would eventually turn up. “But I’ve never done a change that involved that huge an age shift. Odds are he’ll be walking around in a permanent fog. Come on, let’s go before anyone realizes we caused this.”

“You caused this,” argued Charles.

“Okay, I caused it. But not on purpose,” Barry replied.

As they started to walk away, Charles turned back to Jake and Erik, who were lying face down on the grass on the sidelines, their attention still riveted on the bedlam reigning throughout the stadium. “Jake, are you coming?”

Jake, his pelvis gyrating rhythmically against the grass, said, “Not yet, but I’m getting close.”

Charles rolled his eyes and said to meet him back at the dorm room when they were through.

Charles and Barry headed toward the exit when Barry stopped in his tracks. “Oh, shit, I’ve got to stay here. If the other cheerleaders realize I went missing in the middle of this, they’ll be sure I was behind it.” He handed his backpack to Charles. “You have to destroy the jug. Find a garbage incinerator somewhere and burn it. That’ll get rid of my fingerprints and any trace of the punch.”

Charles tried to give the backpack back to Barry, asking, “Won’t they suspect me if I suddenly leave?”

“The only person you interacted with was the coach, and he’s probably got a memory like a bowl of oatmeal right now. Nobody else will remember you.” He forced the backpack into Charles’s hands and pushed him toward the exit gate, then went to rejoin the other cheerleaders, feigning bafflement over what just happened.

Charles walked around campus, looking for a place to ditch the empty plastic jug and convinced that he’d be caught at any second. Eventually, he found an apartment building with an incinerator. He dropped the jug down the garbage chute and into oblivion with a relieved sigh. Although he was happy with how the punch had altered his life, Charles was glad to get it out of his life. Nobody, no matter how well intended, could be trusted with that kind of immense power.

Charles was dozing on his bed, wearing a pair of Jacob’s old underpants and a Captain America tee, when Jake returned to the room. Jake kicked off his boots, stripped off his bicycle shorts and flopped onto his bed naked, nearly collapsing the bed with his new weight. The thud shook Charles awake. He sat bolt upright and gazed across the room at his formerly nerdy roommate.

“Sorry, bro, didn’t mean to wake you,” Jake said in his rumbling Vin-Diesely tones. Without even being consciously aware of it, one of his hands lazily rubbed across his pecs and abs while the other stroked his dick. He just could not stop exploring his new physique.

Charles remarked, “So, Erik didn’t come back with you?”

“Nah, he just wanted to have more sex.”

“And you turned him down?”

“Weird, right? I dunno, there’s just something weird about fucking somebody who looks exactly like you. It’s like masturbation once removed. He’s nice and all, but a little too clingy. Now that I’ve got a body like this, I want to play the field for a while. I don’t want to be tied down. Unless, of course, that’s what the other guy is into.” Jake smirked.

“You slut,” Charles joked, flinging a pillow at Jake, who fired the pillow back at Charles. The force of the impact propelled Charles backwards into the wall and knocked the breath out of him. “Holy shit, you’ve gotten strong.”

“Yeah, I’m like constantly pumped”, Jake said, raising both arms so he could see his biceps peak. “Guess what? After things calmed down at the stadium, the assistant coach said they had a lot of holes in their roster now… “

“So to speak.”

“And he asked me and Erik if we wanted to audition.”

“It’s not called auditioning. It’s called trying out.”

“Kill me, I’m new to this. Man, if you told me two days ago that I’d be… trying out for the football team, I’da said you were nuts. But now, I feel like there’s almost nothing this body can’t do.”

“There’s one thing it can’t do, and that’s walk around campus buck naked. What do you say you and me get some clothes that fit?”

Jake’s cock rose at the thought of how great he would look in nice clothes, stylish clothes, clothes that his mom hadn’t bought at the thrift store. He pulled on some of Charles’s old sweat pants, a Packers tee with large armholes and a pair of Charles’ old Nikes that pinched his size-14 feet. Charles slipped on his borrowed board shorts and flip-flops and the roommates headed out to shop.

In the days after the unexplained transformations, media from around the world descended on campus. Everyone had theories about what could have caused such dramatic changes to spread through the football team. Radiation, sunspots, hormones in the city water supply. One professor of medieval studies came forward with a crazy story about a potion he had read about in a coded book from the Fifteenth Century, but when he couldn’t produce the volume which he swore used to be in his office, his theories were dismissed by even the looniest internet conspiracy nuts. Authorities did interview Barry, along with all the other football players and cheerleaders, but found no evidence that would connect him to the changes. Eventually, Coach Phelps of the football team became the prime suspect behind the changes. There had long been whispered rumors about his sexual inclinations, and he had disappeared from the stadium around the time that the transformations occurred. His red shorts were found behind the bleachers at the stadium with his wallet and cell phone inside the pockets. Since then, there was no sign of him. It was like Coach Phelps didn’t exist any more.

None of the “change-ees” seemed uncomfortable in their new skins, although some who had undergone the most extreme changes, like the cheerleaders who swapped genders or the tackle who was now four-foot-three, did have trouble remembering that they even had a life before the change. The public was almost universally accepting of these people who’d been altered by the mysterious occurrence. There was no evidence to indicate that they had initiated the changes. It wasn’t their choice to be women or gay, that’s just who they were now. Because he was one of the large group who had been modified, it was much easier for Charles to explain to his family why his body had changed and for them to accept it, but now he had the courage to tell them that he had been gay even before the switch. His inner strength and his ability to look out for the underdog, characteristics which were always essential to his being, helped the charismatic Charles become a leader in gay causes on campus.

Charles and Jake helped each other ease into their new personas. Despite his new body’s innate abilities, Jake still had a lot to learn about football, so Charles gave him private lessons. Jake still retained his intellect, but between the demands of athletics and the kind of exciting social life he’d never experienced before, he was no longer the A+ student he had been throughout high school. It was a trade-off he didn’t mind making and, after a while, he rarely thought about his life before the punch.

They loved to kibitz on each other’s looks as they experimented with new images. No matter what, Charles’s new buzz cut never grew a millimeter longer, although he did discover that he could dye it, so he toyed with different colors before settling on a bright red ‘do for most non-formal occasions. It went well with the gold hoops he had in both earlobes, but he had to make sure to keep the earrings in overnight or the holes would heal up. Similarly, he could still work out and get a good pump going at the gym, but it never made him gain an ounce. Once the punch had given you your ideal body, clearly that became the default you were “stuck” with and to which you would always revert. Similarly, Jake would occasionally get tired of dealing with his flowing blond locks and once went to the barber to get them shaved off completely, but by morning it had all grown back to its original length. If looking like Tarzan was the worst of his problems, he figured he could live with it. He took to tying it into a ponytail – except on game days, when he let his hair hang out from under his helmet.

Charles also discovered that he had been right about his new body being well-suited for the water, as he quickly became a rising star on the college’s swim team. Barry would sometimes come to the meets to root for Charles, although Charles suspected he was mainly there to ogle the other swimmers. One day, Barry approached Charles and informed him that he was sure one of the opposing swimmers was attracted to Charles.

“Don’t tell me. Your gaydar.”

“Nope,” said Barry, “my Speedo-meter.” He discreetly nodded in the direction of the boy’s swimsuit which was obscenely packed with a rod that nearly matched Charles’s. Charles’s eyes roamed upwards, past an Olympic-class torso to a self-confident smile, an adorable face, deep blue eyes which were fixed on Charles, and spiky chlorine-bleached hair. Barry watched as Charles practically melted at the sight of this Adonis. “Oh, man, you’re in the deep end now.”

Homecoming weekend was always a huge celebration on campus and, after the bizarre events of orientation week, things had finally settled down enough to put everyone in a party mood. Charles’s parents came to town to attend the homecoming football game with their son and his new friend Keith, who Charles introduced as a swimmer from one of their rival schools. Charles’s folks were pretty sure that “friendship” was not a complete description of Charles and Keith’s relationship, but they opted not to probe for further information. Once in a while, Charles got the itch to be on the field, but he was generally thrilled with the turns his life had taken.

Barry stood in front of the stands with the rest of the cheerleaders. He was regularly partnered with Stephanie who loved the feeling of her body being tossed in the air, carrying no memory of once being 300-pound Steve, who would have needed a catapult to become airborne like this. Barry would become frustrated with Stephanie’s lack of focus, as she was constantly looking toward the sidelines at her strikingly handsome boyfriend (once a strikingly beautiful cheerleader), who was on his way to becoming one of the team’s stand-out wide receivers.

Jake and Erik both made the varsity football squad, although they were still riding the bench until their skills improved. They decided not to let on that they had been part of the great metamorphosis, since basically nobody on campus knew them before the change anyway. It was easier to claim to be twin brothers who’d always been like this. Erik even legally changed his last name to Jake’s, to make the story more believable, but Jake thought Erik did it primarily because he was still obsessed with Jake. From time to time, they still fucked when no one would find them (it would seem too kinky for actual brothers to be so into each other), but to the campus at large, Jake was a very eligible and very gay football player. He had even hooked up with the quarterback a couple of times, although the QB was usually inseparable from his former center. The center was now too spindly to play his former position but seemed happy to stay close to the team as an equipment manager. If only he could stop the quarterback from making the same damn joke about “managing my equipment” every single time they made out. Jocks could be such Neanderthals.

The home team won in a blow-out, leading to much revelry on campus and off. While Jake and Erik celebrated with the rest of the team, Charles and Keith decided to check out an 18-and-over gay club they’d heard about. It was Charles’s first time in a gay disco, and the sights and sounds were overwhelming to him. They took to the dance floor immediately where the other patrons urged the boys to strip off their shirts. Keith didn’t have to be asked twice, flinging his mesh tank top into the rafters, to the whoops of the crowd. Charles peeled off his sleeveless hoodie soon after and tied it around his waist.

Charles was surprised to see Mick standing against the wall in leather shorts and a black vest, surveying the crowd. “Oh my god, I see an old friend over there. I need to go talk to him.”

“Abandoning me already?” said Keith.

“Never,” said Charles, rewarding him with a long soulful smooch before maneuvering his way off the floor.

He approached the imposing Mick cautiously and shouted over the music. “Hey, there! Remember me?”

Mick looked at him without moving his body. It took a few moments of study before the lightbulb went off. He yelled back, “The hair threw me!”

“Just something I’m trying! I’m surprised to see you out and about! I thought you never left your castle!”

“After Barry almost exposed the whole operation, I had to clear outta there! Figure I’ll find some remote corner of the world where I’ll be less conspicuous!”

“Then what are you still doing in town?”

“Just hoping to find a companion for my travels!”

“Oh! Seeing anyone you like?”

Mick shook his head, wincing at the pounding beat of the music and the flashing strobes. “When you’ve been around as long as I have, you don’t have the patience to deal with young brainless kids any more! No offense!”

“None taken!” Charles noticed a flask sticking out of the back pocket of Mick’s shorts.

“I thought this was a booze-free event! I see you brought your own!”

“It’s not booze! It’s the last of the punch!”

Just being in the presence of the punch again gave Charles the chills. “That’s all that’s left?”

“I can’t make more until my newt dealer is sure the heat has died down!”

“Aha! Well, it was nice to see you again, Mick! Good luck in your travels!”

Charles sidled his way to the bar to buy a couple of bottled waters from the chiseled shirtless bartender. As he waited for his drinks, Charles noticed a forlorn balding man in his forties standing on the fringe of the crowd. His attempt to fit in with the crowd stopped at rolling up the sleeves of his blue Oxford shirt and unbuttoning its top two buttons, exposing a few paltry greying hairs on his pale chest. Inclusive by nature, Charles decide to go speak to the man and welcome him to the club. Maybe give him a little thrill by flaunting his lean cut body up close.

“Hi there! I’m Charles! What’s your name?” Charles screamed above the inescapable bass line of the music.

The man looked puzzled, as if there was no way a guy this hot could be approaching him. He quickly glanced at Charles and nervously looked away, shouting, “Robert!”

“Welcome, Robert!” Charles struggled to think what he could possibly talk about with this man a generation older than him.

Eventually, Robert broke the silence (if you can call it that, considering the din of the music blasting through the club).

“This is my first time in a gay club!”

“Me, too! It’s a lot to take in!”

Robert nodded and the conversation ground to another halt. Charles watched as Robert’s gaze was drawn to Mick, leaning against the wall with his powerful hairy arms crossed over his furry chest. Robert’s attention lingered there. Charles knew this look by now. A smile came to his lips. “I’ll be right back, Robert!”

Charles set his water bottles on the bar and asked the bartender to watch them for him, then slithered his way back toward Mick, clapping him hard on the shoulder. “I just realized I never expressed my appreciation for what you did!”

Mick stared straight ahead. “Don’t mention it!” Then, for emphasis, he looked Charles directly in the eyes and said firmly, “Seriously, don’t mention it! To anyone!”

“You got it!” As Mick looked back to the dance floor, Charles slapped Mick on the ass, while simultaneously slipping the flask from Mick’s pocket. “Just want to thank you properly!”

Mick grumbled gruffly, showing no sign that he realized his flask had been pilfered.

Charles made his way to the men’s room where every stall seemed to be occupied by at least two people. He finally found an open stall and closed the door. Opening a bottle, he took a long healthy swig, then refilled the bottle with punch from the flask. Satisfied that the dosage should be more than enough for a transformation, he screwed back the cap, tucked the flask in his back pocket and returned to the dance floor.

“I brought you a water!” he said, handing a bottle to Robert.

Robert looked appreciative but hesitant. “You didn’t have to do that!”

“You looked like you could use it. Go ahead, drink up!”

Robert took the bottle and opened it, not noticing that the cap had already been unsealed. He took a sip, and liked the taste. He returned the bottle to his lips and downed the entire contents greedily.

Charles pointed toward the wall. “You should go talk to my friend Mick over there!”

Robert looked intimidated. “I couldn’t talk to him!”

“Go ahead! I think you might have a lot in common!” Especially in a few minutes, Charles thought.

He pushed Robert in Mick’s direction and grinned as Robert made his first fumbling attempt at conversation.

Carrying the remaining untainted water bottle, Charles squeezed his way back to Keith at the center of the dance floor. Not wanting to be around when Mick eventually realized his flask had been stolen, Charles yelled, “I think we should leave!”

Keith looked confused. “But we just got here!”

“I promise, I’ll make it worth your while.” Charles smiled his perfect smile and raised his immaculately sculpted eyebrows. Instantly, Keith was eager to leave. He took Charles’s hand and led him toward the exit. In passing, Charles noticed that Robert and Mick were still talking, and that Robert had his fingers in his collar, as if it was starting to feel too tight.

On the way out, Charles and Keith passed a dance cage where a shaggy-haired skinny twink had just stepped into the spotlight to an approving roar. His bright youthful eyes flashed and he grinned, clearly loving the attention. He was wearing nothing but sneakers, a sequined jockstrap, and a coach’s whistle. “A coach’s whistle?” Charles thought. He paused to get a better look at the dancer’s face, but Keith yanked him through the exit door.

Once outside in the cool evening air, Keith noticed the flask protruding from Charles’s back pocket. “Hey, wait a second. You’ve got a flask and you didn’t tell me? Give me a slug of that.”

Charles stopped in his tracks, took Keith’s hands and looked him over, studying him from the top of his spiked ‘do down to the leather sandals on his feet. He shook his head. “No way.”

“Why not?” Keith demanded.

“Because you’re perfect as is.”

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