Peoplechange

by BRK   

Frankie’s ancestral world-changing ability, which he didn’t even know he was getting, mixes unpredictably with his friend Aaron’s new interest in hypnosis.

I was sitting on a bench in the quad feeling grumpy, so it was a bit annoying that my irrepressibly perky lab seatmate, Aaron, abruptly decided to plop down right next to me. I wasn’t just grumpy, I looked grumpy, I was sure—hunched over, scowling, fists clenched, the whole nine yards—so what he thought he was doing I have no idea. I was even wearing my grumpiest tee shirt, the black one with all the tiny overlapping skulls. Though most of my clothing was pretty grumpy, to be honest.

“Hey, Frankie!” he chirped, dropping his bag on the ground in front of the bench in a fairly definitive way, as though he were fixing to say a while. “Guess what I’ve been researching all week?”

I gave him a side eye. “Social cues?” I guessed dryly.

The funny thing was, if he’d asked what was bugging me I might have told him. I was turning twenty that day—in fact it was any minute now I’d be officially two decades old precisely—and I felt totally disconnected. Part of that was being a moody bitch all the time, sure, but having no family I knew of didn’t help. Anyway, Aaron was all about keeping things upbeat. I was grudgingly curious if he even registered other people’s funks. Some people would call that a gift, I guess. He was kind of cute, really, and seemed to tolerate me. I could almost see dating him, just for the odd-couple factor, but I knew with my disposition that that wouldn’t be fair on him.

I was so distracted by Aaron’s irrepressibility and my reactions to it I didn’t notice the fateful moment I came of age. It was just like the others before and after it, of course, except that with it came the silent, unmarked appearance of a thin, twisted-vine tattoo around my wrist just above the bone, half-hidden in the dark hair of my forearm. It was the outward manifestation of a reality-shifting power I didn’t know I had coming to me on the day of my ancestral maturity, and which I didn’t fully understand until much later—mostly because of what happened next.

Aaron, true to form, didn’t notice my needling. “Nope! Hypnosis!” he announced.

My eyebrows lifted despite themselves. “The lore, or the methodology?” I asked, unwillingly drawn in.

“Both!” he said proudly. “I bet I could hypnotize anybody.” He looked at me with a grin. “Even you!”

That amused me. It seemed he had noticed I was a testy sorehead. “Oh sure. You could hypnotize me like that,” I said sarcastically, snapping my fingers, “and I’d agree with anything you said.”

The earth seemed to vibrate infinitesimally under my army boots as I said that, but I ignored it, watching Aaron. He beamed at me, as if I’d meant what I’d said literally. “Great! Let’s try it!” He snapped his fingers in front of my face. “You are now hypnotized! Everything I ask, you’ll answer with a ‘yes’!”

I blinked. Nothing seemed exactly different, but I was dimly aware that I no longer had to worry about the future, or choices, or anything. Aaron would take care of everything, and the cognizance of that truth was so liberating I actually broke into a smile. “Okay!” I said.

He eyed me consideringly. “You’re gay, correct?” he asked.

Of course the novice hypnotist went straight for the sex, I thought, amused. This one was true, and I answered “Yes.”

He nodded. “I bet you go for the big, muscley types, right?” he said. He asked this slightly ruefully, as if it were a foregone conclusion anyone into guys would go for the workout-obsessed Instagram hunks our campus seemed plentifully supplied with.

I wanted to tell him I actually wasn’t, that I was more into cute boyish types like him. But I was answering yes to everything, and it wasn’t my job to worry about truth or consequences, so I said “Yes.” I felt that tiny, tiny rumble under my feet again, and I realized with considerable surprise that my tastes had changed and I was no longer attracted to Aaron. I wanted big, handsome, muscular men, the kind of guy who’d whip off his shirt with a friendly grin just to let you see the gains he’d made in his well-honed aesthetic pecs that week, and I felt a certain wistfulness that Aaron wasn’t one of these and that he’d unknowingly gotten me to shift reality so he wasn’t my type after all.

Because that was what had happened—my “yes” had altered the world, in this one specific way. This was unexpected and monumental, but… I didn’t worry or care about it, really, because Aaron was taking care of everything. I gave him a regretful smile, confirming his subtext, and he nodded sagely. “Of course. The bigger, the better, right? To you, ‘beautiful’ and ‘sexy’ means extra tall, extra-swole, hairy all over, ridiculously hung, cumming all day…” He seemed to catch himself and aborted his litany, finishing with, “That’s your kink, right, Frankie?”

I knew he thought he was just getting me to admit what he assumed other gay guys were all into, thus leaving him out in the cold—only it wasn’t true. But I was saying “Yes,” so I did, and then… it was true. The ground grumbled ever so faintly against my rubber soles, unnoticed by anyone else, and all at once I was that guy. No dude could be too big for me, or too hung, or too horny. I wanted to worry about how weird that was, and how secretly upset Aaron seemed to be over guys not being into him. But I couldn’t, because worrying was just not a thing for me while Aaron was on top of things.

Aaron, having gotten his confirmation I was a typically shallow college gaybro, sighed resignedly, then let it go and seemed to move on to me personally. He tilted his head and considered me. “So why are you such a gloomy Gus, huh?” he asked.

I opened my mouth to answer, but I could only say “Yes” to his questions, and that wasn’t a yes or no question. Aaron quickly realized his mistake and said, “All right, forget that. You know what I’m going to do, Frankie? I’m going to leave you with a little post-hypnotic suggestion. Okay?”

I smiled, glad to have a binary question again. “Yes.”

He was pleased too, evidently understanding my reaction. He was a lot more perceptive in some areas than I’d given him credit for, even if he was still clueless in ever other way. “I’m going to give you a mission, Frankie. It is now your duty from this moment forward to make the world better, happier, and more beautiful, however you can.” He held my gaze, and it was like I couldn’t see much else but those bright gray eyes. “Sound good? Do you accept that as your mission, Frankie?”

I wondered if Aaron remembered how I’d just been made to redefine “beauty,” but… well, it wasn’t on me to worry about things like that. “Yes,” I said, and, under my feet, the earth moved almost imperceptibly one more time.

I would have happily started my mission with Aaron himself, but just then he checked his watch—an actual, old-fashioned analog watch like Patrick Bateman or the Connery Bond wore—and jumped to his feet with a start. Breathlessly he turned to me and exclaimed, “Shit! I’m late for badminton!” He started to go, then turned back and hurriedly snapped his fingers in front of my face again. Then he was gone, leaving me a bit bemused. I hadn’t even known we had intramural badminton here.

Instead I wandered around a bit and enjoyed the late afternoon sun, guessing the right situations would present themselves in due course. Aaron had probably meant that second snap to switch off the hypnosis he’d induced, and maybe it had, but reality and consequence still seemed to be mostly off my radar. My duty was to add to the beauty and happiness of the world, and that overrode everything else.

I found myself in the campus-run smoothie bar operating out of the quad-facing side of Hamilton Hall, in line behind someone I recognized from U.S. History—mostly from the curve of his hard, perfect ass. I always made a point of leaving the lecture after he did, just so I could watch it go. “Hey, Barry,” I said. “How’s it hanging?”

He turned and registered surprise at seeing me all cheerful and gregarious. “Hey, Frankie,” he said. “It’s hanging pretty good.”

“I can see that,” I said boldly, glancing down at his crotch. “You’re seriously bulging today!”

He hadn’t been, of course, but once I said it, his junk was making the front of his jeans protrude like he was smuggling an avocado or two down there. Barry looked down at himself in surprise, but then the natural cockiness of a fit, well-hung dude kicked in. “I’m bulgin’ every day, man,” he said with a wink.

Of course, the way Aaron had gotten me to always hunger for more meant I didn’t want to stop improving Barry just yet. We moved forward a notch in line and I said, “Yeah, but you are looking seriously big today. I bet you took all morning just to get it soft.”

The words left my mouth, and then Barry’s junk went from avocado to cantaloupe. His bulge was seriously huge, enough so the teeth of his zipper were visibly straining, and I wondered how he even packed it away whenever he had so he could go out in public with it. Barry let out a slightly exasperated breath, though his dark eyes were twinkling. “You know it,” he said. “And it doesn’t stay soft for long, either, let me tell you.”

I was about to do another turn of the merry-go-round with him, but the cashier finished with the girl ahead of him and he stepped up and ordered. I chilled, enjoying the opportunity to scope out that truly excellent ass, and a moment later he had his smoothie and was heading out. He tossed me a wave. “Good luck with that thing!” I called after him. He wiggled his eyebrows meaningfully and headed out, and I was left to order, mulling who my next prospect might be the whole time. It didn’t take me long to realize that the straw-haired, slightly pudgy cashier right in front of me was a perfect mark.

“Large raspberry chocolicious,” I said when he gave me a harried, expectant look, setting up a new ticket on his order tablet. His nametag read “Charley” in dark label-maker print. As he keyed in my order I added nonchalantly, “By the way, you are looking extremely ripped, even for a guy on this campus. Congrats, man.”

As easy as that, the world was a better place, thanks to the addition of one more guy who met my hypnosis-imposed standards of beauty. Charley looked down at his white uniform polo, which, though thick and loose-cut, couldn’t hide the rounded shape of his traps and delts or the swell of his pecs—not to mention his sculpted biceps and seriously corded forearms. “Thanks, man,” he said as he keyed in my order, pleased by the compliment. “Lotta hard work.”

“I can imagine,” I said, tapping my debit card on the reader. “I bet you’re glad the ceilings are so high here on campus. What are you, seven feet?”

He smiled sheepishly down at the tablet in his hand. “Uh, yeah, about,” he said. His white polo now seemed endless, and his legs looked like they went on forever past where I could see behind the counter. I checked his expression closely. He seemed happy to be tall, but not to be constantly asked about it.

“No worries, man,” I said. “At least you’ve got a lot of company. That’s why they’ve got the high ceilings—the average height for guys on this campus is way above the national norm. It’s like, 6-foot-3 or something.”

The extra-tall puréed-fruit-wrangler before me smiled in relieved agreement, looking like this information did indeed give him some solace. Meanwhile, all the guys around me in the smoothie shop jumped up at least a few inches in height… me included.

Okay, fuck, that one was huge. I’d just boosted the average height for my fellow students by a solid five inches… which also had to mean a certain proportion of the college’s undergrad population had been upped by even more than that.

I shivered slightly. I was still in happy-go-lucky, repercussions-flatline mode, since my “duty” was consistently trampling any other considerations… but it turned out that changes on that scale kind of gave me the willies. Not to mention, I hadn’t really banked on changing myself. Charley was still half a foot taller than I was, but a between-heartbeats jump from looking at his chest to looking at his adam’s apple was weird. Awesomely weird, but weird.

I decided to stick to improving the planet one guy at a time for now.

Still, Charley was more relaxed, at least. He set down the tablet and made my raspberry chocolicious with a visible spring in his step, humming along to his own personal head radio. A minute later he was handing me my drink in a big environmentally sustainable paperboard cup with a genuine smile.

I would have lingered, maybe boosting his cock or libido or swelling a few specific muscle groups for my next trick, but I felt the next customer looming behind me—and he really was looming, since Charley, done with me, was already looking up to meet his gaze. I stepped out of the way, making room for a very handsome bronze-skinned fellow in a long, form-fitting sleeveless tee who had to be a good 7-foot-3, going by the seven-foot-even Charley. I goggled and quickly turned away in search of fresh pastures, thinking to myself as I sucked on my smoothie that averages sure were dangerous things.

I ended up a while later in the room of one of the guys in the suite opposite mine, sharing a beer. Sean’s suite-mates, Kyle and Raj, were out at some event, so it was just us. Sean, somewhat amusingly, looked delighted to see me not stomping about glowering at everyone, so just off-hand I took that bonhomie and twisted it a little. “You look pretty blissed, Sean! You must have had one of those mega-sized half-gallon orgasms you get all the time, the ones where the afterglow lasts hours and hours afterwards.”

He suddenly became very happy, and slumped a little deeper into his big, padded saucer chair. He was tall, taller than I was, shirtless and very buff, his long brownish-red hair falling in loose, sexy waves on his bumpy shoulders as he lounged; in fact all he was wearing at the moment was red sweatpants, as though he couldn’t be bothered to get more dressed than that. He looked immensely relaxed, though still engaged with what we were talking about. Even with his lingering euphoria he seemed to me to be slightly embarrassed he was known for those explosive, long-lasting climaxes I mentioned, but also a bit stoked. “I didn’t, er, know they were common knowledge,” he admitted with a smile, slurring his words a little.

“Well, you leave your door open half the time, we’ve all heard them,” I said conversationally, sucking some beer from my bottle with a chuckle. “Don’t worry, we take it as inspiration.”

“Cool,” he said, grinning wide.

I had to keep going, of course. “Word has it it’s quite a cannon shooting all that cum,” I added. “Twice as big as anyone else’s in the dorm, and that’s saying something. And leaky as fuck.”

There must have been some elephants among my fellow residents already, or maybe there were now, because in the space of a split-second the right leg of his red sweats (in addition to his actual right leg) was suddenly full of unmissable, knee-length, ankle-thick cock. He was clearly mostly flaccid, but the bottom third of his sweats was damp and stained with phallic joy-juice. “‘Strue,” he slurred happily. “Course that’s all anyone notices about me, so it’s not a shocker you heard about it.”

“That’s not so,” I argued patiently. I ticked off his positive attributes on my fingers like friend would bucking up his bestie. “You’re extremely handsome, with a foot-long tongue, twelve-pack abs, and pecs the size of basketballs. And balls to match,” I added as an afterthought. No sense in having normal-sized testicles with a dick like that, especially given all the cum I was making him produce. Don’t want them getting overtaxed, after all.

Sean kept seeing the downsides somehow, even if he wasn’t all that perturbed by them. He was still intoxicated by afterglow, but there was a tiny line of mild frustration between his brows. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Too bad they don’t make pants that’ll fit a cock this size and these amazing bowling-ball nuts of mine,” he said. Sure enough, even his sweats were straining to contain the massive volume of his junk. Odds were there wasn’t a style of 33-inch-waist 501s that could accommodate all of that sex-flesh. “They should do that,” he mused, happy at the thought. “That’d be cool.”

I grinned. He kept goading me on. It was like “more” was my middle name. “Yeah, Sean,” I said patiently, “but you don’t need it, do you? I mean, you’re always hard and it points straight up, so you don’t need to worry about getting your dick in your pants, do you? And since you never wear shirts…” I finished, leaving the “Q.E.D.” implicit and unsaid.

He made a pleased little laugh, drawing a finger appreciatively across the bulk of the massive erection that hid his beautiful twelve-pack with the upper shaft resting gently against his left pec—which was, indeed, about he size of a basketball (only not so taut, so maybe one that was slightly deflated). At his touch a little eruption of precum erupted from the far end and dripped slowly from the slit over his shoulder, falling behind him a second later. There was a translucent bucket back there, already a quarter full just from the time he’d been sitting with me chilling and drinking beers. “Yep,” he said, nodding. “I got it figured out.”

Hmm, I thought. He sounded satisfied now. Couldn’t have that! “So, you ever get to the point where your afterglow lasts, like, all week? I heard there’s a few guys on campus that got there already.”

He blinked at me, perking up with interest. “How d’you do that?”

I smiled. “You just have to have enough multiple orgasms,” I said. “What are you up to, three orgasms on top of each other? Five minutes of cumming each, right, all in a row?”

He smiled very wide. “Yeah,” he agreed. “That glow lasts for hours, man.”

I nodded. “So you just gotta keep going, keep practicing. You can build up the number of orgasms you have at once, dude. Once you get up to ten you’re cumming for an hour, orgasm after orgasm without a break, and then the fucking afterglow goes on for a week at least.”

He grinned. “Sounds like gearing up for the Olympics, man,” he said. He was already stroking himself again, his monster permaboner jumping wetly in appreciation. He realized one of his hands was occupied and set the bottle aside to do it properly. As he started working he looked up hopefully and asked, “Wanna help?”

“C’mon, you know Raj and Kyle get jealous if you train with anyone else,” I teased.

“Yeah, they do,” he said fondly. He seemed to focus, as if he were starting a set of bench presses. “Well, I’ll be working on my stats, bro, so watch my PicThread for updates!”

I saluted with my bottle and left, figuring that after hours of being hard and edging myself with all these improvements it was time to do a little training myself.

That night Aaron surprised me by stopping by my little room in the fourth-floor end suite. I looked him over as he dropped onto the bed while I lounged in my desk chair. He was a little taller than before, and a little buffer, thanks to the comments I’d made about the general tallness and hotness of guys on campus, but he was still cute and boyish and therefore no longer my type. Me being upbeat and consequence-impaired now, this struck me not so much as a misalignment as an opportunity.

He seemed to be in a slight funk. “Man, so many hunks on campus, right?” he said, accepting the beer I handed him from my fridge. “Guys like me really don’t stand a chance.” He sucked on his longneck thoughtfully, his eyes straying over my own amped-up form as I dropped back in the chair with my own bottle. I’d followed Sean’s example and pulled off my skull tee, though I had only the usual dorm-average eleven-inch hardon rather that the neck-slobberer Sean had. Either way, Aaron seemed to like the cut of my jib.

“What are you talking about, Aar?” I teased with a crooked smile. “You’ve got all of ’em beat, in every category.”

Aaron considered this thoughtfully for a long moment, looking over his incredible eight-foot-frame. This came complete with endless legs; a fourteen pack; thick, perfectly sculpted muscle all over capped with magnificent, protruding hair-dusted pecs even bigger than Sean’s; melon-sized balls stretching the black sweats he was now wearing instead of black jeans; and an enormous, record-breaking permaboner so huge it stretched past his shoulder and was presently smearing the precum from its inches-wide head all over my cinder-block walls. “Yeah, I guess,” he conceded. When he looked up at me, I was amazed to see those sweet gray eyes were still troubled, despite him now being exactly, exactly what made me rev inside almost to orgasm just looking at him. “You don’t think it’s… too much?” he asked anxiously, uncertainty and hope flickering in his eyes.

I set my beer down with a definitive smack and went to him, pushing him down on my bed. He was surprised for a second, but that quickly gave way to delight as I grinned down at his much larger, much more beautiful form. I felt my lust ramping up past infinity as I bent and nuzzled against his ear, eliciting a soft, guttural groan from him as his cock seemed to get even harder and thicker between us.

“Aaron, dude, not only is it not too much,” I growled, feeling the truth of my words in my very bones, “… it’s not nearly fucking enough.”

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