Spare parts

by YellowJester   

After being disfigured in an accident, Al learns that he doesn’t need his old body or face when he can simply copy the best features of those around him.

Al untucked his shirt, then tucked it in again… then quickly untucked it again before landing on a French tuck, a mix of both. Al used to never get so nervous about going out with his friends. In fact, he used to be the life of the party staying out clubbing till the witching hours, getting drunk, and normally ending up in some stranger’s bed the next morning. That was before he had made the fatal mistake of jay-walking and ended up getting hit by a bus, which had flung him into the path of another bus, which sent him off a bridge, into the water… where he was run over by a boat.

Honestly, a pretty comical way to die, only he didn’t die. He should have. He’d broken every bone in his body and made a smoothie of his internal organs. The wonders of modern medicine had interceded. He still didn’t understand exactly how but the doctors had used stem cells, like those regenerating cells babies have, to essentially bring him back from the dead.

A miracle, yes, but even miracles had their limits. The recovery process had been long and hard and even now, recently released from medical custody as he had been after two years of treatment and physical therapy, he was not the same man as he was before the accident.

Getting hit by two buses and a boat will do that to you. His face was mangled, not to the point of being monstrous but definitely not what he would call attractive, either. His body, too, had suffered from the accident, practically wasting away as he recovered even apart from the scars. While the old Al had partied with abandon, this new Al was self-conscious of his appearance and absolutely terrified to cross the street. Hence why he stood at the crosswalk fidgeting with his short-sleeve button-down shirt and why he made an old lady he saw help him across. He clutched her tightly as they crossed, ready to throw her in the way if a bus should approach, but luckily for both of them none did. Despite her age and his current condition the woman actually made a pass at him as they crossed the street, calling him a “handsome lad” and asking him if he wanted to go back to her place. That helped his confidence, if only a little, and gave him a strange tingling feeling.

Finally, after detaching himself from woman he made it to the club. Despite the relatively early hour the place was bumping; the bass-boosted electronic music and a flashing rainbow could be seen and heard from the outside. A quick check of his phone notifications informed him that his friends were already inside and so he joined the short line and waited to be let in by the bouncer. As he neared the front he realized he knew the bouncer from back when he frequented this place. Back then he had been friendly with the muscular man. Now, though, he doubted the man would recognize him and he honestly hoped to keep it that way. Al had been sort of a legend back in the day, a position he doubted he was capable of living up to now.

As the bouncer—he thought his name was Rod—waved for him to come forward, Al couldn’t help but admire the man’s physique. It seemed as though while Al had been recovering Rod had made some serious gains. His bis and tris were particularly impressive, and Al found himself feeling bad for the man’s sleeves as they tried and failed to contain his massive upper arms. Their sheer size was only enhanced by the web of veins that patterned the muscles.

“ID please,” Rod said, indeed not recognizing Al as he had predicted. It was only as Al gave the card to Rod that he realizes that the picture on the ID was pre-accident.

“Had a bit of a glow down,” Al said awkwardly, trying to flash a smile but only able to lift one side of the mouth, the other’s nerve endings having been damaged beyond repair. Rod grunted but gave back Al’s ID—even despite the discrepancies in the photo there was little doubt that Al was of age. As Rod handed back his ID their hands touched just slightly and for a second Al felt a slight tingling in his upper arms. Then it was gone as soon as it had come.

“Have fun, man,” Rod said, “and nice guns.” Al laughed at that, thinking the man was making fun of his twig arms. He lifted his non-existent bicep to flex, only to find the punch line ruined by the fact that he did have biceps—huge biceps. Al stopped in the doorway and stared at his arm. Both biceps and triceps were now meaty and engorged, suddenly waging and winning a war with the sleeves of his unprepared shirt. They looked like almost exact copies of Rod’s, only instead of the man’s olive complexion, the biceps had the pale look of someone who had spent the last two years inside a hospital.

He felt light-headed. How was this possible? Was he having some sort of mental breakdown or delusion? He needed to find his friends. No, he needed to find a drink. The bar was right where he recalled, just left of the entrance. Unlike Rod the bouncer the bartender was not someone he recognized, a short and slightly pudgy man who looked to be in his mid-40s with a strong square cleft chin that didn’t particularly match the rest of his average features. Al walked up to him, trying to hide his now-massive arms to little avail. He found he couldn’t stop flexing and feeling them up, equal parts concerned and turned on by the mysterious new muscles.

“I’ll take a vodka soda,” Al tried to say casually, although the words came out more as a question than a request. Luckily the night was still young enough that he had actually been able to get the man’s attention, although the fact that he wasn’t a pretty girl kept the barman from making small talk. As the man worked Al saw him occasionally glance up at Al’s biceps, which he had crossed in an attempt to hide them seeing as how they looked a little ridiculous with the rest of my scrawny body. Wordlessly the barman placed a garnish on the drink before handing it to Al. Just as with Rod their hands innocently touched and caused a strange tingle, this time centering on Al’s chin.

Lifting the glass to his lips, Al quickly lowered it again, uneasy at how strange the sensation felt. A lifetime of liquid consumption causes one to become rather accustomed to the feeling of one’s face, yet something felt off—his bottom lip somehow felt more supported and stiffer. A quick exploration of his finger revealed that his chin was causing the offense. Only it wasn’t his chin. Nom his chin was round and soft, even before the accident. Whatever was attached to his face felt like a block of stone, the bone squaring in a harsh strong way completely foreign to his face. The deep clef was also new, creating a deep valley in the mountain that was his chin. Pulling out his phone he saw what his fingers had felt, his face now somehow sported a strong masculine chin almost identical to that of the bartender.

Say what you will of Al but by now he had begun to put the pieces together. Somehow, he was absorbing the best qualities of the people he touched. Al racked his brain for what could be causing this, eventually coming to the conclusion that the only logical explanation was the stem cells. Somehow their flexible nature must be causing him to morph. But was this safe? Al needed to get out, he needed to go see a doctor. Panicked, he looked for the exit, only to find a crowd had congregated between the bar and his way out. There was no way he would make it to the other side without touching anyone. Could he risk it?

His contemplation was interrupted as a woman sauntered up to the bar, her stumbling gate indicating she had already had a few drinks. That was hardly the most noticeable thing about the woman. Put bluntly the women had massive boobs, the type that would never fit in a top without being the center of attention. As she stumbled her way towards the bar she tripped on one of her own feet. Al’s eyes widened as he realized too late that her fall would take her directly towards him! He tried to move out of the way but as she fell her arms grasped his own for support. For a brief second, he hoped he might absorb her winning smile, but judging by the tingling in his chest he had no such luck.

Horrified, he glanced down expecting to see breasts pushing out of his shirt. Instead he found different mounds there, equally large, yes, but the lumps on his chest were not boobs, they were too firm and square. No, instead Al had somehow gained massive pectoral muscles from his contact with the women. Their growth had unceremoniously demolished the first three buttons of his shirt, which was having a bad day trying to contain his massive chest and arms. The muscles looked downright strange on his body, the rest of it still emaciated from the accident. In fact, Al was having trouble supporting the weight of his new mass, his shrimpy legs and shoulders feeling the strain of having put on rapid new pounds of mass.

The woman removed herself from his arms drunkenly apologizing before reaching out to grope one of his now-massive pecs. Luckily no further tingles came, confirming Al’s suspicion that he could only absorb from a person once. Al was now torn about what to do. On one hand, he still worried about the changes and their possible repercussions, but did he want them to stop? If he went to the doctor’s now and they were to fix him, would he be stuck in his current disproportionate form forever? This could be a blessing, a way to heal from the damage caused by the accident, to become the ultimate version of himself… or rather, of the people around him. So far none of the changes had been bad. Determined to not look a gift horse in the mouth Al looked around for someone with a feature he would like to absorb, slumping down in one of the bar chairs as he scouted the bar.

The choice was made easier by a cute guy walking right past him. His was clothing tight on his lean muscular body and he looked well groomed. Before the accident—in fact, before tonight—Al had never paid much attention to the appearance of other men. Maybe it was the fact that he now saw their features as ones he could now have or maybe it was something else, but, for whatever reason, he found himself checking other men out. On instinct he stuck his foot out, tripping the man, their bare ankles making contact in the process. The man stubbled then turned to face Al, his face red with an anger that cooled quickly as he took Al in.

“Hey, I like your hair, dude,” he said. Al had hoped that he would get the guy’s cute, tight ass, or maybe his strong roman nose, but he supposed the man’s hair worked. It was silky and thick and quaffed attractively, definitely an improvement over his current thinning hair.

“Thanks, man,” Al said, reaching up to find that he indeed had hair identical to the man he had just tripped.

“Do you go to Clarice?” he asked. The question sparked a brief conversation in which Al lied through his teeth, pretending they went to the same barber rather than admit that he thought his stem cells had magically copied the guy’s hair. Eventually, Al excused himself using the excuse that he had seen his friends. Which was true: as they’d chatted Al had located the friends who had invited him out all huddled close to the DJ on the dance floor. Steeling his nerves he made his way over to them, trying to avoid physical contact. His efforts were only somewhat successful—an accidental brush of a college-age girl’s hand lengthened his eye lashes, while a hip bump into a man with rolled-up sleeves grew his forearms, making his arms, at least, now somewhat proportional.

Once he reached the dance floor, however, he lost total control, flailing arms and thrusting hips assaulting him from all sides. An accidental stepping on a foot caused his lips to buzz as if they had momentarily fallen asleep, although in actuality they had simply grown pillowy and soft. A hand accidentally brushed across his back causing a tingle in his shoulders, widening them and accidentally making his progress more difficult. The elbow wedged awkwardly into the crevice of his pecs by a sheepish-looking man earned him a short, coarse beard across his jaw, a jaw that had become wider and sharper thanks to the impatient shoving of a male model.

Al quickly lost track of exactly who he was taking features from, a sudden, shifting numbness in various places the only thing indicating that he was changing. At one point a gigantic man who had to be some sort of pro basketball player moved next to Al. Al indulged himself, letting his hand “accidentally” rub against the tall man’s leg and feeling his whole body lengthen. The constant shifting of the dance floor meant no one was really paying attention to Al or noticing his features shift. As he neared his friends, a twink dressed only in a leather harness and thong singled him out and to his shock started to grind against him. Even more shocking were the rock-hard abs that formed from their contact and the boner that Al inexplicably got from the experience. Not wanting to deprive the world of his body, Al undid the last few buttons of his shirt, revealing the whole of his muscular torso.

At long last Al got to his friends, finally reaching a pocket of relative emptiness near the loudspeakers.

Al reached out to tap one of his friends on the arm before thinking better of it and just kind of standing there awkwardly waiting for them to notice him. Eventually, the song ended and his three friends turned to face him, only with a pang of shock did Al realized they didn’t recognize him. How could they? He had become a sort of Frankenstein’s monster of different masculine features from the various patrons of the club. Where they were looking for their scrawny, balding friend just out of an extensive hospital stay, instead before them was a 6’5” bodybuilder. His face, a hodge podge of features from various people, somehow worked together to give him a handsome and exotic look.

“Hey, have you seen our friend? Short, skinny, looks like he might have been hit by a bus or two?” his friend Jordan asked. It was a simple question but for maybe the first time in two years Al noticed not a trace of pity in his friend’s voice. No, rather it was admiration. Al’s previous intentions of coming clean to his friends and seeking help melted away as he realized the opportunity he had. He could finally escape the shadow of that bus. He could have a new start.

“Nope, haven’t seen anyone like that,” he said, his voice much richer and deeper thanks to the vocal cords of some unknown stranger.

“I’m Jordan, by the way,” his friend said raising his voice to be heard over the music.

“Al.” Shit. So much for a fresh start. Jordan glanced at his other two friends but didn’t say anything. Instead, one of his other friends, Sergio, grabbed his hand and pulled him into their dance circle. The contact made his whole body tingle and glancing down he saw that it was due to his skin darkening to the same ruddy tan as his friend. Luckily the flashing of the lights and the general darkness of the club ensured that no one saw this transformation.

Over the course of the night, he became reacquainted with his own friends and found innocent ways of making contact with each. From his friend Marge, he gained a male version of her show-stopping ass, the muscular butt complementing the thick thighs he had gained sometime during his mad rush. Contact with Linsey copied her perfect barbie blond hair. The stylish haircut and scruff he had grown sometime during the night bleached itself instantly, while all his body hair, limited as it was by various tingles, turned the same gold color.

His friend Jordan took a special interest in the new Al. Al found himself reciprocating the attention, for the first time noticing just how hot his friend was. When at long last they touched, Al grabbing the man and bringing him into a passionate kiss, he could swear he felt tingles but couldn’t notice any change on his body. After long hours of sweaty dancing, a round of shots, and many more kisses between the two former friends, the group headed over to Jordan’s apartment. Al nearly blew his cover by heading straight to his friend’s door, but the excuse of “lucky guess” seemed to satisfy his non-sober companions. After a few more hours of chatting and more alcohol everyone left but Al and Jordan.

Jordan used the classic “show you something in the bedroom line,” which led to more kissing and Jordan feeling up Al’s new muscular body. Eventually, as both men removed their pants, Al discovered what he had picked up from his friend. Long and thick, Al’s penis was identical to that of his lover. Jordan seemed delighted, claiming he had never been with someone with a tool as big as his. It took a moment for Al to get over the surprise of his friend packing so much meat and the fact that he now did as well, but once he did he used his new member to the fullest.

After hours of fucking the two fell asleep, not waking up till the afternoon the next day. Al politely said his goodbyes and awkwardly avoided giving Jordan his number, not wanting to explain why it was the same number as Jordan’s sickly friend.

Exiting the apartment he noticed the same elderly woman from last night and, to his chagrin, she once again hit on him, asking to hold his powerful arm while they crossed the street. When he touched her he felt no tingles which he thought was odd until he realized she has been the first person to induce that sensation upon him last night. Could it be that he had somehow absorbed her sex drive—was that why he had a sudden appreciation of men? The thought amused him as he made his way to his car. Lost in thought he didn’t see a bus careening down the street heading right for him. Then everything went black.

Next thing Al knew he was walking up to a hospital a horrifying déjà vu of two years ago. A young doctor was standing over him clipboard clutched in two massive masculine hands. Blearily Al glanced down at himself. His perfect hunky form was a mess, bones broken, muscles flattened. All except his hands, which looked larger and callused and suspiciously identical to the doctor standing above him. It seemed that Al’s luck with public transportation had not changed, but at least he still could do this. A minor setback, sure, but nothing a few spare parts won’t fix.

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