Musky morning

by screamingmoist

 A young man who constantly laments that there aren’t enough “real men” gets more than he bargained for.

Added: Nov 2022 4,691 words 4,022 views 5.0 stars (2 votes)

T

The first thing Ben noticed was the smell. Being bachelors in their early twenties neither he nor Chris had the highest standards when it came to hygiene, but they still managed to keep their small apartment at what most would consider to be a socially acceptable level of cleanliness. Clutter, dirty dishes and soiled laundry peppered the ramshackle space, though in no greater quantity than could be found anywhere else in the college town. And while the occasional trash bag would sit in the garbage can for too long, or too many food-crusted plates would fill the sink, their humble abode had never reeked of pungent body odor before. Cheap cologne and frequent sex, yes, but not a raw, ripe musk that jarred the groggy brunette from his sleep. He and Chris were both exceptionally athletic and had spent plenty of time as sweaty messes in the shared space, without making it smell like the inside of a locker at the gym.

But it was that very jockstrap funk that Ben awoke to, clinging to the insides of his nostrils as he forced himself upright. He shook his head and wrinkled his nose, giving one of his armpits an exploratory sniff to rule himself out as the cause. While there was a slight whiff of onion it was nowhere near strong enough to be the source, a conclusion that followed as he inspected the rest of his sweat-soaked body. The specifics of his dream were still hazy and frustratingly resistant to forming, but whatever he’d seen in his sleep had Ben’s heart still racing, making him wonder if it was the stench alone that had pulled him from slumber.

“Goddamn…what the fuck is that…” the sculpted brunette said, tilting his head back and taking another series of deep sniffs. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuck,” he groaned, a punch of lust slamming into him without warning. The sensation was as primal as it was unexpected, sending his cock from twitching to aching in the blink of an eye. His hands clutched the sweat-damp bedding as he tensed and arched his back before falling prone. “Holy shit…where the fuck did THAT come from,” he gasped, kicking the thin sheet free. His chiseled pecs heaved with anticipation, his smooth, tanned skin breaking out in goosebumps as he ran his hands down a tapering washboard and tugged the briefs away. Ben’s thick, six-inch rod sprung free like a catapult and he was stroking immediately, his groggy brain spinning from the intense arousal and heady aroma.

The addled jock didn’t even have time to let his mind wander towards familiar fantasies. The impulse was purely physical, and when his thoughts finally caught up with his actions they only left him more confused. “Wait…I remember now…weird, weird-ass dream,” he muttered to himself, his cock throbbing as the fog began to lift from his nocturnal wanderings.

He hadn’t gone far. He’d been home with Chris in the dream, only his roommate wasn’t “Chris” anymore. He was Chevy. Chris was a dark-haired pretty boy like himself, with a dimpled chin, pouty lips, and a smooth body that looked sculpted from granite. He was the only person on campus who pulled in more pussy than Ben, though the brunette had yet to concede that fact as a reality. Chevy, on the other hand, was a beast. The mountain of a man had similar features to Chris, though they were fuller, rounder, more rugged, and buried beneath a salt-and-pepper beard. Likewise, instead of a dark, stylishly gelled mop, Chevy had a bald, shiny scalp marked by an almost total absence of hair, a trait that the rest of his body did not share. Instead of smooth and sculpted, Chevy’s brawny frame was covered in a silky, peppery pelt, the curly carpet making him all the more imposing.

Chevy wasn’t ripped and shredded like Chris, he was thick and beefy. His arms hung at an angle from massive shoulders, while the heaping slab of meat that were his pecs rested on a cresting muscle gut. Each of Chevy’s thighs were the size of Chris’s waist, and the plump, round globes of his ample rear were easily three times the pretty-boy’s formerly perky bubble. Chevy’s intimidating piston of a cock was also a significant improvement over Chris’s more average rod, as were the churning bull balls that hung low and heavy underneath.

And it wasn’t just Chris. The dream apartment was packed full of meaty, rugged men who had once been lean and youthful, brawny, brutish beefcakes that he somehow knew were his friends despite their foreign appearance. Instead of looking like handsome, athletic variations of himself and Chris, as they should have, they’d become rotund, ripe mountains of muscle, their musky aroma filling the small space as much as their masculine meat.

Everyone was in various states of exposure, including himself, and even in the dream Ben was confused by how turned on the scene made him. He’d gone hard in an instant, the cock he normally flaunted now seeming small and pitiful by comparison, just like the navy briefs he wore. His smooth, chiseled flesh and pretty-boy face with its full head of hair suddenly left him feeling weak and insecure by comparison, a sensation rooted in experiences that went far beyond the confines of the apartment. Ben remembered his stomach dropping as he staggered over to a window, knowing what he’d see before his eyes confirmed it. The bustling campus scene and the size of the milling crowd outside may have been exaggerated in surreal, dream-like fashion, but the dazed brunette wasn’t surprised by the homogenous makeup of the impossible crowd.

Everywhere he looked was broad, balding beef, a sea of hyper-masculine hulks without a single woman or chiseled hunk like himself anywhere in sight. As he stared out the window at the milling monoliths of musky muscle, all the full, rugged faces seemed to turn in his direction at once. Even as they all smiled and started laughing at him, Ben’s cock throbbed at the wide jaws, scruffy stubble, full beards, and double chins that adorned the mocking expressions, his own high cheekbones and smooth face feeling like a curse.

That sensation was magnified when he turned and found his altered friends following suit. Ben had literally never had his supposedly-superior looks turned against him before, and he was having a harder time processing that than his warped peers. His smooth, sculpted frame bloomed in a full-body blush as his friends closed in, their rugged hands feeling rough and huge as they manhandled and passed him around. Ben tried to sputter out a few meager protests as his briefs were ripped away, but the lip-quivering lies were betrayed by the jock’s oozing rod. The feeling of his friend’s bulky, hairy flesh pressing against him on all sides filled him with an aching need like he’d never experienced before, not just to be one of them, but to be with them. In a world without women it was only natural for men to be attracted to each other, especially since these weren’t just men, but “real men.”

It was a phrase Ben began to hear over and over, repeated in his own voice from the mouths of his friends: “Why can’t guys just be real men?” “World would be a lot better without all these pussy boys around.” “Fuckin’ queer-ass dudes need to man up.” “I’ll show a bitch what a man is.” “Why can’t dudes just be dudes? Why’s it always gotta be so weird?” “Quit whining and act like a man.” “I wish these pansy fuckers would just go away.” Their mouths, his voice, over and over in a dizzying whirlwind of toxic masculinity.

His body on fire with a strange new lust and his own words looped back at him until they became an incomprehensible din, Ben had been jarred awake, only to find himself now almost desperately replaying the scene in his head until he erupted all over himself. “What the fuck is going on with me this morning,” he panted, surprised by both the force and amount of the release. He wiped the copious cum from his sculpted torso as best he could before slipping his briefs back up and stumbling out of his room, hoping to escape the cloying body odor aroma.

It was a vain hope. Ben froze as soon as he stepped out into the living, having to clutch the door frame for support. Not only did he find the smell just as intense, the room, and its inhabitants, weren’t as they should have been. The stunned brunette tried to tell himself he was just still sleeping as he looked out at the apartment from his dreams, with its oversized furniture and altered decorations. Instead of posters of scantily clad women and various video games on the walls he stared at portraits of naked, beefy bears mingled with posters of monster trucks and fishing brands. Camouflage print was everywhere, and the few superhero and anime figures that once peppered the apartment had been replaced by various multi-tools, knives, and leather pouches. The scented candles they had for when girls came over were still there, but in addition to “bourbon” and “leather” were “locker room” and “truck bed.” Even the pile of videogames on the floor by the TV had been altered, the first-person-shooters and fantasy MMOs now nothing but hunting, fishing, and driving simulators.

But most alarming was the nearly-naked beast of a man standing in the small kitchen at the far side of the room. It was Chevy, not Chris, his thick, furry frame covered in nothing but a camo-print jockstrap. “Mornin’ runt,” the hairy hulk rumbled over a broad shoulder. His sleepy grin faded when he looked at Ben, his expression going stern. “Boy, what the fuck are you wearin’? Get over here,” he barked.

Ben was moving before he even had time to think about it, far more focused on the sight of Chevy’s lumpy gut and heaping bulge, and the stomach-fluttering reaction they provoked. He practically trembled as he stood within arm’s reach of his friend, that insecure sensation from his dream crashing into him like a wave. “Chri…Chevy…what’s…what’s going on with…” he broke off in a gasp when the bigger man’s powerful, piston arms shot out and grabbed his briefs, tearing them from his smooth, athletic frame.

“Fuck did I tell you about these little babybitch panties? Bad enough I gotta stick up for your weird little ass all the time…least you could do is make that job easier for me,” Chevy grunted. Ben could only stare as his cock sprung to life, the fine details of his friend’s appearance sending a fresh throb to the exposed organ. He hadn’t noticed as much in the hazy dream, but instead of looking to be in his early twenties, Chevy looked closer to his early forties. Deep, weathered wrinkles lined the other man’s rugged mask, and Ben was hit with a confusing punch of terrified envy. He at once dreaded the thought of losing his own youthful features while simultaneously longing for an appearance similar to his friend, a desperate need to fit in rushing to fill the void left by his suddenly-missing arrogance. “Aww, come on, Woody, don’t look at me like that,” Chevy sighed. “You’ll get there too. Don’t know why you’re takin’ you’re fuckin’ time, but this looks like a good sign.”

Ben shivered when Chevy reached over and tousled his hair, his eyes going wide at the russett rain that followed. His stomach sank at the implication, and the sensation of his friend’s palm on bare scalp, but the rest of his body responded by explaining where his new name came from. Ben blushed at the thought, somehow remembering that he was like a teenager going through puberty in this bizarre world, constantly hard and horny as his body gradually adjusted to be like the men around him. They’d already long since grown, but for whatever reason he was a late bloomer, no more the arrogant stud but an awkward little runt by comparison. “Was…was that my hair…” he stammered.

“Sure was. Won’t be long now,” Chevy said, sounding proud as he jostled Woody so that the smaller man could see his reflection in the microwave. The balding brunette couldn’t believe his eyes as he gawked at his missing hairline and the exposed patch of scalp, his once-thick crop now a thinning circlet. But he didn’t have long to stare before the bigger bull of a man spun him around again. “Let’s get you your morning dose.”

“MMMPHHhhh!” Woody’s surprised yelp was muffled by Chevy’s pungent armpit when the burly bear raised an arm, grabbed the back of his head, and roughly shoved it into the musky crevice. Woody knew he should want to pull away, but instead he found himself leaning into it, desperately huffing the ripe aroma. One hand drifted to Chevy’s gut while the other landed on his friend’s hefty rear, absently kneading the ample flesh like a purring cat’s paws. The stunned, balding stud couldn’t even begin to process how much he loved the sensation, let alone stop his tongue as it flitted out to begin lapping at the salty, sweaty skin.

“Damn, bud! Somethin’ got that ass goin’ this morning,” Chevy laughed while the smaller man nursed at his armpit. Woody only half-heard his friend, unaware at what point his hand on the other man’s muscle gut had slid down into the jockstrap to begin pumping away on the imposingly large cock it struggled to contain. The warm, rigid organ felt massive in his hand, and though Woody was hit with an immediate impulse to let go and pull away, he quickly dismissed the thought. Of course this was natural. Of course this is what “real men” did. There was nothing wrong with making each other feel good. They were all just “dudes being dudes”, with nothing to hide and nothing to feel ashamed of.

Except for him. With his smooth skin and chiseled frame Woody knew he wasn’t one of them yet, and he began to resent the frantic voice in his head that kept telling him he shouldn’t want such an outcome in the first place. “NNNhhnnn…!” He spasmed against Chevy when the other man began pumping on his own, smaller cock, already feeling like he was going to pop after a few tugs.

“Can’t wait for that ass to get bigger so I can give you the real thing without breaking it,” Chevy laughed, a rough swat landing on Woody’s firm bubble. “Plus, you owe me for all this shit. It’s like I’m nursing a goddamn baby bird back to health in here.”

Woody responded by exploding all over Chey’s side. He blushed at his helpless whimper, but he was already dropping to his knees before he’d even finished uttering the sound. His tongue lapped a hairy thigh clean before he instinctively buried his face between his friend’s trunk-like legs. He huffed just as heavily as he did in the armpit, the sour aroma of his friend’s churning balls making him swoon. Chevy’s fat cock couldn’t fit far into his mouth but Woody gave it his best effort, eagerly licking and pumping away on the burly brute until his face was covered in a warm, sticky splatter. Woody just gazed up at the tower of flesh looming over him when it was all said and done, no longer certain whether he was awake, dreaming, or which he hoped for.

“Good job, runt,” Chevy grumbled as he grabbed Woody by a sculpted arm and hauled him to his feet. Like a parent cleaning up a dirty child, he pulled the smaller man over to the sink, grabbed a wet paper towel, and roughly wiped Woody’s face clean. The handsome hunk didn’t know what to do but go along with it, his stomach fluttering when Chevy grabbed his chin and turned his face from side-to-side. “Looks like you’re gettin’ some stubble in here, too. None’a that peach-fuzz shit, either, but the real deal. Feels like we should get some breakfast to celebrate, yeah?” Woody felt a rush of eager pride as Chey once again manhandled him across the apartment, this time back to his bedroom. “Since I can’t trust you to even dress yourself right…” the hairy hulk muttered to himself while the smooth jock stood obediently in place. Woody watched his bearish friend rummage through a dresser, catching the thin cotton workout shorts that were hurled in his direction. They were comically oversized on his tight, tapering frame, but he slipped them on anyway, blushing at the way his cock was outlined in intricate detail beneath the thin, army-green material. Even with the drawstrings cinched as tight as they’d go the shorts rode precariously low on his trim hips, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Woody felt an incoming stab of embarrassment when his visible cock began to twitch again, but the impending tent was obscured by the gown-like muscle shirt that draped over him. The heather gray fabric hung so loosely that Woody feared it would slip off, and he was amazed at how small it made him look.

But there was no time to dwell as Chevy pulled him from the room. He watched his friend slip into a similar pair of shorts that plastered around his thick lower half like a second skin, the straps of the jock and his heaping bulge both clearly visible, before throwing on a backwards baseball cap and nothing else. They each stepped into a pair of flipflops and made their way outside, barely traveling a block before Woody was once-again rock-hard in his baggy shorts. Even with the billowing muscle shirt he sported an obvious tent, but he quickly began to realize how little that mattered.

All around them were the mountainous men from his dream, each of them in various states of undress and arousal. Some wore shorts like himself and Chevy, while others strutted casually around in jockstraps and straining boxers. Woody spotted a few stuffed briefs amongst the crowd, though they weren’t the low-cut, stylishly colored kind he’d had on that morning, but full-sized, dingy white classics. There was hardly a shirt in sight and for a moment Woody marveled at the rampant exhibitionism, until it occurred to him that it all made perfect sense. In a world full of confident, masculine men, of guys-being-guys, the definition of modesty had been equally altered.

Which left him as the only one getting strange looks. His upbringing as an arrogant Adonis left him wholly unprepared for the experience, and Woody wanted to crawl in a hole and hide at the incessant stares. Fortunately, most were accompanied by smug, sympathetic smiles as the stout, self-assured studs around him had no reason to be cruel, but that did little to ease his embarrassment. He felt like a perpetual little brother and he was treated as such, with many of the guys spouting condescending encouragement as they rubbed his balding scalp or gave his obvious tent a playful tap. It also didn’t help that Woody still looked so much younger than everyone. Even the men he knew to be freshmen looked like they could be pushing fifty, with everyone’s outward appearance no longer having any meaningful relationship to their actual age.

It was with that same sense of longing and dread that Woody looked at his reflection in the Student Center’s doors, his boyish face seeming to have aged several years during the walk across campus. Instead of his early twenties he looked to be pushing thirty, with a noticeable hardening of his once-youthful features. Coupled with the scruffy stubble that had thickened in time with the thinning hair on his scalp, Woody felt like he was becoming a new person altogether.

That feeling of being a stranger in his own body only grew stronger when they found their friends. The three girthy giants sitting around a table in the food court looked like middle-aged mountains, their hefty, hulking frames sending an envious thrill through the smaller man. He was confused for a moment when he tried to recall their original names, but then caught himself, remembering that their current names were the only ones that mattered.

“Well, well, well! Look at this chrome-dome piece’a shit,” Flint laughed, grabbing Woody and abruptly pulling him onto his lap. The smaller man grinned bashfully and leaned into the ample, ebony flesh, loving how his friend’s rotund body was simultaneously supple and firm. His friend was clad only in a pair of gym shorts and a hat like Chevy’s, and Woody found himself squirming excitedly against the other man’s colossal package. “‘Bout time your pink, punk ass caught up,” he said, his trimmed beard causing Woody to break out in goosebumps as it tickled the smaller man’s shoulder.

“Still looks like a scrawny lil’ fucker to me,” Buck grunted from across the table. Unlike the others the heaping blonde wasn’t bald but had a short faux-hawk splitting the center of his scalp, the yellow hair connecting to a pair of mutton-chops on either side of his flat, puggish face. That same golden fur sprouted like a blanket across his bulky frame, obscuring the surprising amount of definition the nearly-naked bull sported. He looked like a heavy-weight bodybuilder and was dressed as such, his hefty package spilling out of the small cotton poser he wore.

“Everyone looks scrawny to you,” Earl laughed next to him. The bald bulldog was the shortest and stoutest of the group, his plump pecs resting on a beach ball belly that fully obscured the pointless boxers he wore. Everything about the ruddy meatball was round, from his shiny scalp to his powerful shoulders to his oversized rear, and it sent just as much of a throb through Woody as everyone else.

“I’m just sayin’…does the little fuck even have his pubes yet,” Buck scoffed.

“Let’s check under the hood,” Flint laughed, running a hand up Woody’s torso as he lifted the draping muscle shirt. The balding brunette gasped, both at being unexpectedly stripped and at what he felt. Not only did his friend’s hand stroke through a sudden layer of soft, sparse hair, that budding fur covered an expanding midsection. There was a brief stab of horror as Woody looked down at the small pot-belly that had replaced his ripped abs, having to remind himself for a moment that filling out was actually what he wanted.

“No shit,” Buck conceded with an approving nod. “Guess it really is happening.”

“That mean no more morning muskings for you,” Earl asked Chevy as he scooted over to make room for the bearded bull.

“Not unless we want to,” Chevy grinned, lifting Earl’s pudgy arm and burying his face in the other man’s pit.

The portly hunk sighed, his head falling back while his friend’s tongue went to work. Woody wondered again why no one was batting an eye at such a public display, but then he began to notice how many other groups were engaged in similar, or far more intimate, acts around them. His heart raced as he gazed at the mountainous men, his head spinning as he thought about which of them he’d end up like. Would he be a strapping, hairy hunk like Buck? A heavy hulk like Flint and Chevy? Or a soft, supple mound like Earl? Each was equally horrifying and appealing in its own, inevitable way. As he sat and listened to his friends talk about trucks and hunting and construction and four-wheelers instead of girls and sports, Woody could feel himself expanding. Whatever was happening, it was happening fast and in front of everyone.

“Whooo…someone’s gettin’ bigger already. Shit, boy! Look at these nips,” Flint laughed, motioning for Woody to lift his arms. The inflating man did as he was told, his heart racing when he looked down at an unrecognizable body. The hair that had only recently sprouted already covered him in a curly pelt, accentuating the softness that he’d acquired. In his transitional state he was doughy and supple, his plump gut and softening chest making his arms and legs looks small. He gasped when Flint reached up and squeezed one of his ballooning pecs, the enlarged, nubby nipple feeling like a lightning rod. “Gonna be a big boy,” the dark-skinned stud said, shifting Woody off his lap.

“Is this…I mean…fuck! Fuckin’ look at me,” Woody grunted, his voice cracking as it deepened. He didn’t flinch when Earl reached over and tugged his shorts down, every face in the room turning in his direction. Unlike in the dream the expressions weren’t mocking but eager as his soon-to-be peers watched him grow into the man he was becoming. As the excessive flesh pushed outward, Woody began to feel it take on a renewed firmness, still hanging heavy and bulky but no longer as loose and sagging. The chocolate hair that covered the inflating muscle lightened as it acquired more salt than pepper, but Woody was focused on the way his aching cock pushed forward between the furry pillars that were his thighs. When he looked down he could feel his dense, scruffy stubble brushing against the top of the muscled shelf that were his pecs, though that was quickly overshadowed by the sensation of everything else rubbing together. His piledriver arms were forced to hang at an awkward angle, the struggle between his thighs caused him to adopt a wide-legged waddle, and the plump globes at his rear seemed eager to bounce and ripple with the slightest movement. “Fuuuuuuuck yes,” he roared in a deepened voice, gripping triumphant handfuls of the curly carpet on his chest as his body finally settled. He’d landed somewhere between Buck and Chevy, not as cut as the blonde but not as burly as his roommate, with a thick, proud mustache looming above his lips. Instead of blushing he beamed when the room erupted into whistles and cheers, feeling a slight return of his former confidence.

Chevy got up and lumbered over, giving Woody’s new muscle gut a loud slap. “Knew you had it in you, runt,” he said proudly.

Woody grinned as his friend gripped the eleven-inch girder that had become his cock, finally lasting more than a few pumps without erupting. “Ain’t got shit in me yet,” he grunted. “Don’t forget your promise, asshole.”

“Oh I like this guy,” Flint laughed, quickly clearing off the table and scooting away just as Woody was thrust forward. Earl and Buck did the same, standing with heavy arms folded as they watched Chevy stick a pair of slick fingers into the mustached meathead.

“You best…give it to me…” Woody groaned, dimly aware that he was being fingered in front of a crowded room but not sure why he felt like he should care. He could see his reflection in a nearby window, and all he felt at the sight of the fifty-something stud he’d become was an overwhelming relief. He was finally one of them, a “real man,” not the little runt he’d been. There was still a part of him that remembered how things had been, and a lingering ghost of dread at the thought that the fit, youthful jock had become a wrinkled, balding bull of a man, but whether the world he knew had changed or he’d been transported somewhere else, he wasn’t sure.

And it didn’t matter. As Chevy’s fat, oozing cock pressed against his hole and worked its way inside, there was nowhere, and no one, he’d rather be.

 

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