nman-blog

[nman-blog]

Street Smarts

Possessing people in public takes a lot of skill. Not that all ghosts care about this, but making your new body struggle and flail around as you try to take control attracts a lot of attention from the crowd, and if people don't bug you asking if you're okay it's still going to be awkward. No, you've got to ease your way in, make your entrance feel pleasurable, not invasive. And it's actually the tough looking guys who are the perfect targets. They're so high strung making their outsides strong that their insides are weak and begging to let loose. All you have to do is gently nudge the part of their brain to get them to relax, and that's all it takes for their body to unclench and suck you in like a Hoover. Then you take a look around, see that no one around your new body has noticed the change in management, and go on your merry way, all with a hot and tough looking body to boot.

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[nman-blog]

[nman-blog]

Jake and Max huddled close together in the bathroom, they were both using their vapes trying to avoid getting caught.

They laughed as they joked and passed around the vape. But this moment was shattered by the sudden sound of heavy footsteps outside the stall.

Both boys froze, their hearts pounding in unison as they exchanged nervous glances. Then, a stern voice boomed through the door.

"Open up, now!"

Jake's eyes widened in panic, but before he could react, Max grabbed his arm with a determined expression.

"Quick, use your ability," Max whispered urgently.

Jake's brow furrowed in concentration as he tapped into the unique power he possessed—a gift he had discovered only recently. With a silent command, he triggered his body-swapping ability, feeling a strange sensation as his consciousness shifted.

As the door rattled with another forceful knock, Jake took a deep breath and pushed it open. Standing before him was Officer Adams, the school cop.

But to Officer Adam's surprise, the student who greeted him wore a mischievous grin instead of a guilty expression. Before the officer could utter a word,

As Jake focused his mind on his ability, a surge of energy coursed through his body. He closed his eyes tightly, feeling his consciousness begin to detach from his own body.

With a sudden jolt, Jake's awareness was ripped from his own body and thrust into Officer Adam's. For a moment, there was a disorienting blur of colors and sounds as Jake struggled to regain his bearings. Then, with a series of convulsive spasms, Officer Adam's body responded to Jake's presence. Muscles twitched and bulged beneath the uniform, as if rearranging themselves to accommodate their new inhabitant. Jake could feel the unfamiliar weight of the cop's gear pressing against his chest, the stiff fabric of the uniform clinging to his skin.

As he opened his eyes, Jake found himself staring back at the officer, now in his body, and his best friend Max. Jake flexed his fingers, marveling at the strength and dexterity of his new body. He could feel the power beneath his skin.

With a quick adjustment, Jake straightened his posture, his spine aligning with newfound confidence. He patted his stiff gel-filled hair, making sure that Officer Adams perfect hair was normal.

Jake, now in Officer Adam's body placed a finger of his former body's forehead. In an instant, the memories of the past few minutes were erased from Officer Adams' mind. He blinked, his gaze momentarily unfocused as he struggled to recall why he had come to the bathroom in the first place.

With a smirk, Jake, now in the body of Officer Ramirez, winked at Max mouthed that he would see him in a week, after the cooldown period ended.

As Jake sauntered out of the bathroom stall, feeling fueled with power, he gazed at his reflection as he walked past. Jake couldn't help but grin. He had never felt more alive, more powerful, than in this moment of transformation.

[nman-blog]

Police Suit

Colonel Jackson gripped onto my laces once more, tightening them as hard as he could with his head turning a complete shade of read. After my stumbling and his grunting, he pulled back and looked at me with one foot held on the table. "How's that?" he asked simply, wiping the sweat from his head. I tightened my suit, feeling the leather stick to the muscles and hairs trapped underneath. I squeezed my boots, feeling my feet already comfortable with the soles. "These suits aren't normally this hard to put on mind." He breathed. I looked at my smaller, less chubby hands. Noticing how they perfectly fit in the uniform without being strangled like mine used to. "This is great" I admitted, feeling my new face, void of scars or stubble. "Remember, your Sergeant Hardy now. Not Captain Phillips. Play your role and nobody will notice." Jackson spieled as he walked up behind me, stretching the uniform and skin I had on.

"How long do I have to be like this again." I questioned, flexing slightly. "Just until the old Hardy is well: could be weeks, could be months. So you better get comfortable in 'ere." Jackson noted as he patted me down further, making sure I perfectly slotted into the life of another man. How could I not get comfortable with this new handsomely slim frame. It's like being an officer all over again, I've got that newbie energy and ready to tackle anything. Maybe if I plan this out right, I can have some alone time too.

[nman-blog]

The Best Method

You are here because you are interested in getting a new body, a new life that will enable you to unleash your potential and become truly happy. I can understand that feeling, as I have walked through that path many times. My main recommendation is not to do it, it is a dangerous process. But hey, if you are willing to do it, it is best that you know the best method to do it.

First lets go with the ideas that are a no go. First of all, don’t go with a greedy corporation and pay for a brain transplant. To be honest, probably this is not an option for most people. It is very expensive, it cost more than a million dollars and, obviously, it is not covered by any insurance. Even if you are able to pay it, I do not recommend it as there are two many involved in the process. Doctors, Admin Staff, so many people knew about your change. God forbids that some document is leaked, and your fantasy live goes to hell. Also, let’s remember, very few people are willing to volunteer and give their bodies to a stranger. Sure, that is true for most of the methods shown in this list. But in other methods the chances that an authority learns what you have done are null. That is what happened to my friend Byron. He was lucky enough to trick a homeless guy and steal his body. Oh, but one of the nurses talked too much. Now, he is on the run. Sure, he now has a nice body, but having that kind of life is definitely not worth it.

Something that I also don’t recommend is using body suit serums. Yeah, you may be surprised by hearing this, knowing how popular the method is. But you must understand, the technology is not there yet. You end up wearing the skin of someone else over your body. It is effective, it is fun, and it allows you to live someone else’s life. However, you will notice how ineffective this method is when summer hits. Its like wearing a feather jacket, super uncomfortable. Just a couple of days in and you will want to get rid of it. My friend Tommy insists that this is the best method as it does not leave any track behind. But well, Tommy is always shirtless. Yeah, he enjoys walking like that… but I can assure you that there are more effective ways to steal someone else flesh.

Now, using ancient artifacts that switch you in the spot are also a no go. This include classics such as body switching medallions or ancient talismans. Fully understand why people love them. The issue is that things can become quite unpredictable really fast and, believe me, it can end very bad. That is what happened to Josh. He wanted to take over the life of his boss. Completely understandable as he was a stud. However, his boss was not going to let someone steal his life without a fight. Things got messy and I just receive a call in the middle of the night with Josh asking my help in getting rid of his former self. Yeah, at the end things work for Josh, but I am not sure how he can sleep at night knowing how violently he killed his former self.

A very similar situation is taking a potion and shapeshifting into another person. Yeah, you can look like the person, but the real one is out there. Don wanted to have the body of his neighbor, Aiden, so bad that he take a brew that allowed him to take his form permanently. Gladly, he was not interested in killing his neighbor. He just wanted the looks and, a couple weeks later, he moved to a remote area in Alaska. Aiden will never know that he has a doppelganger out there. Yeah, Don says he is happy… but you now, I really don’t believe him.

However, the absolute method that you should never do, is transferring your soul to a piece of clothing. I really don’t understand how this trend began but is dumb as shit. My nephew Lucas decided to put his soul in a cap. He was lucky that this big dude found it. However, lets be real, yeah… Lucas is controlling the body of that hunk. But it is not sustainable. Sooner or later, that man will need to take a shower and that means that the cap would need to be taken off. It was a dumb move by Lucas, I just hope that he enjoys passing the rest of his life alone inside this man’s closet.

But well, now lets talk about the methods that really work. An easy one, that anybody could do, is entering the spirit world via astral projection and posses the body of anyone that you want. That is how my best friend, Bill, got his body. Why this is not my number one. Well, because when you do Astral Projection, you left your own body vulnerable to be taken by undesirable creatures. They are usually not dangerous; they cannot harm a human physically. But they are creatures of chaos. Yeah, Bill loves his new body, and he has no issue that his old body was locked down on a mental institution. Still, there are better ways of holding a new life.

That is exactly what I did. When I meet Tobias, I knew that he was the one. I try to befriend him, we were never close, but at least he didn’t feel uncomfortable when we were alone. That was critical as my method require that we stay alone for a very long time. What it was? Well, it is called fusion. Literally, I just grabbed him by the arm and my body just started to absorb him. Of course, he tried to fight, but that only accelerated the process. At the end, where Tobias stood only a pile of clothes were left. Now, I could easily switch between two forms. Taking advantage of which body was more advantageous for each situation. Yeah, it is the perfect crime, so I do not understand why no more people opt for this transformation method. Well, who I am to judge. Anyone can do what makes them happy. But tell me, what is your favorite transformation method?

[nman-blog]

[nman-blog]

Male Transformation Blog: “Experiment”

Written by “Curious”

“Where am I?” 

Was all Jeremy could think when he awoke bound to some machine. He looked around and saw an old man smiling at him… It was not a pleasant smile but rather… one filled with lust and twisted into a smirk. His search continued and upon further inspection, he concluded that he was in a lab of some sort. He began to fight for release from his constraints when an electrical surge shot through him. “AH!” Jeremy let out a scream, which only seemed to please the old man more. Jeremy’s head was pounding and he began to feel really light, the electrical current was too strong and Jeremy was powerless to do anything but endure it. It finally stopped but something felt… off. He had the feeling of floating, but that was impossible he was still bound to the machine… He looked down and saw the old man smirking before he closed his eyes and Jeremy saw something that seemed to be spilling out of this strange man; an energy of some sort? His thoughts were stopped short when the essence started floating towards Jeremy and on instinct he dove out of the way just in time to see the essence surrounding… himself? How could that be?! He was right here! He looked down and was surprised to see nothing where his hands should be… where his feet should be… where all of him should be! Jeremy’s eyes grew wide with fear as he saw the essence start to slowly concentrate around his body’s head before slowly flowing into his mouth. His body let out a few groans as the energy filled it up. 

“No, no, NO!”  Jeremy tried to cry out but no one heard him. He looked around, begging, pleading, anyone to stop this from happening. Jeremy was mortified when with one final push, the energy had entered his body completely and let out a few satisfied moans before opening its eyes. An expression Jeremy himself had never seen began to creep across his face… A slow smirk, filled with lust and satisfaction.

“What? How are you doing that? Why am I able to see myself?” Jeremy called again to no avail.

“They can’t hear you.” His body said to him.

“Release me at once!” the new being once again making use of his vocal chords. A button was pressed and the iron constraints were released.

“Well gentleman, it appears this experiment was another success for Professor Bartholomew Smith!” His body stood proudly, “I haven’t felt this great in years, but now if you don’t mind gentlemen, I’m going to… run some ‘tests’ on this new vessel.” He said with a devious smirk before exiting the room. Jeremy flew off after his body and followed it down a couple halls and up an elevator to someone’s private quarters.

On the door there was a plaque that read “B. Smith”. He floated through the door and saw his body progress across the room to another door where it went in and closed the door. Jeremy flew into the room and heard a click. He looked around and saw to discover that this was a bathroom. The impostor was standing in front of the mirror admiring his new perfect face. He smiled cheekily to his reflection before looking at where Jeremy would be in the reflection of the mirror.

“The bathroom is a private place you know… although I suppose there isn’t much you haven’t already seen of this body.” He ran a hand up his new abdominals. “Oooh nice… I bet this took a lot of work at the gym…”

The stranger winked at Jeremy before taking off his shirt and slowly undoing his pants and letting them fall to the ground. “Oh?” He raised his eyebrow, clearly intrigued by what the thin confines of his underwear were concealing, a huge bulge clearly evident. He slowly reached into his pants and let out a gasp before allowing a huge grin to spread across his face, “Very nice…” Jeremy was mortified… this stranger was feeling his body up and he was completely powerless to do anything about it. Pulling down the last remains of clothing this body had on, Jeremy could clearly see the delight in the stranger’s borrowed face. The stranger began to fondle his new-found package and moaning; allowing his hands to dance across this new body, exploring every last crevice. Jeremy was disgusted when his rod started to harden while the stranger reached for some lube. “Damn…” was all the stranger could say when he looked down and saw how huge his new dick was; nice and heavy and very thick. It had to be at least 9 inches the stranger hypothesized of his new appendage.

He squeezed some lube generously onto his cock and began to slowly pump his new cock while his moans grew in volume, his breathing began to come out in pants.

“Damn… I….f-f-forgot… how… g-g-good… this… felt…” The stranger said aloud between pants. His enjoyment was clear in the ecstasy of his face. Jeremy was disgusted; how could this stranger just steal his body, his life, and just use it like that? He flew towards his body and began attempting to press in. The stranger smirked, he seemed to enjoy the sensation of Jeremy trying to take his body back because he began to jerk with feral intensity; pumping faster and faster, his moans growing loader by the second, his muscles tensing while he fought to keep from cumming, biting his lip and stroking harder. His breathing staggering, until finally he climaxed and a relieved, satisfied sigh crossed his lips while his flow of sperm was released out of his new cock. He raised his hands to catch it then raised it to his mouth, playing with it in his mouth a little before swallowing it and savoring the taste. This disgusted Jeremy who only fought harder to reclaim his body.

“Won’t do you any good” the impostor sighed once again with satisfaction “for some reason…” he tried more of his cum, playing with it in his mouth before swallowing it again, “you see…” he began to massage his softening cock “for some reason… we are unable to dive into you.” He raised his hand to his lips, licking it to get the last bit of cum that squeezed out.

Jeremy tried pushing into the stranger again and much to his disappointment, he failed yet again. The impostor laughed,

“Call me Bart- or should I say Jeremy now? Yeah, I think I can get used to that… Call me Jeremy” he laughed. “You’re sick! Give it back!” Jeremy screamed. 

“Now, there isn’t much use in yelling now, is there? I’m the only one who can hear you, and quite frankly my dear boy, I grow quite tired of you… Well, at least the essence of you… This,” he ran his hands up his body again, “I love very much.” He reached down and raised his new body’s shirt to his face, inhaling deeply, and allowing yet another moan to pass his lips.

“Damn…” Jeremy thought to himself as he watched the impostor take advantage of his body “I’ve got to find a way to get my body back…”

“Damn it! I won’t let you get away with this!” Jeremy screamed once again at the imposter who, much to his dismay, had explored his new body a couple more times. Bartholomew laughed, “It took years of research to achieve this, how could a simpleton like you achieve anything?” Jeremy swore to himself, the truth in those words stung. Jeremy released a sigh of defeat, and in mere disgust he couldn’t stand to watch his body have another go with itself so he flew off to do some exploring. He noticed this seemed to be a military base of some sort and wondered just how secret this place was, and what secrets it held hidden within its confines.

His thoughts were interrupted when he looked up and realized he had walked into a locker room of some sort; based on the disarray, he could only guess it was the men’s. Not wanting to see anything, he dashed forward trying to get out of there as soon as possible when a man stepped out into his path.

Not being aware of Jeremy’s presence he made no effort to move out of the way, and received quite a shock when they collided and he began to feel like he was choking, and he fell to his knees. Jeremy wasn’t sure what was happening but it felt as if he were being pulled in. As Jeremy continued to be sucked in, the man groaned multiple times, before exhaling one final breathe and falling unconscious to the ground as the last of Jeremy slipped into his body…

Jeremy moaned, he felt really groggy and slowly raised himself to his feet and got quite a surprise when he caught sight of the mirror. His gaze was returned by the shocked expression of the man he had just collided courses with previously. He reached forward and touched the mirror, making sure his reflection did the same before raising his hands to his face. Everything felt so different; even a simple breathe felt foreign. He noticed this gentleman was in extraordinary shape, and ran his hands along his newfound abdominal muscles, they were incredible… He was in pretty decent shape himself, but nothing compared to the body he now inhabited. Something about feeling his new body was erotic, and he couldn’t help it as his pants began to grow tight with pressure and curiosity getting the best of him, he decided to take a look at his new package. He barely undid his pants when his new piece of property sprung to attention and slapped his abs on its way out.

“Not bad… “ was all Jeremy could say as he began to turn it at different angles in the mirror to really get a look at it. He began to feel a rush, and his new cock was demanding release. 

“Fuck… I don’t want to jerk this guy off!” Jeremy thought to himself but as he gripped it to force it back into its cage, he felt a surge; it felt really good. “Damn” he bit his lip and began to slowly rub it up and down, “Well, it’s not really gay since it is technically mine now I suppose…” As he was massaging his new rod, he began to moan “Ah… that feels… amazing… Oh my… god” he was practically drooling and began to jerk faster when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

“Yeah, you like that you fag?” He said to his reflection and began to make alluring faces, which only increased the already erotic feeling, “Yeah, you like me rubbing your dick for you don’tcha… Ah!” his moans were getting loader, and hearing this stud’s voice somehow made this so much better.

“Yeah, ah! That.. is… ah! Ah! Ah!” his abs began to flex as he was fighting to keep from cumming. He was practically yelling as his body finally began spasming, as he blew his load on the mirror. “What’s that you little fag? You want to try that?” he flash a cocky smile to his reflection before leaning forward and licking his sticky mess off the mirror. 

“Yeah, you like that taste don’t you… you little fruitcake?” he swallowed and released a sigh of content, still bathing in the afterglow of his self-induced orgasm.

“Well, if I can’t get my body back, this certainly isn’t a bad body to be stuck in…” Somehow he seemed to be ‘remembering’ that hygiene was essential in this compound and he licked his lips when he realized that meant he would be taking a shower…

Jeremy got quite the shock when he arrived to the showers; he saw his body standing there naked, and based on the raging erection his body had, he could tell Bartholomew was enjoying his stolen body a lot. Jeremy made his way over to the shower next to Bart’s when an idea struck him, maybe he could seduce Bart out of his body… Jeremy turned on the shower and squeezed some body wash onto his hands then reached down and slowly began to lather his abdomen, moaning at how erotic the touch was.

Bart cocked his head; clearly the show had begun to pique his interest. Jeremy winked at Bart before reaching down and started to massage his borrowed body’s rod, the volume of his moan increasing in intensity. Bart was biting his lip and couldn’t take it anymore; he approached the stranger and put his mouth to Jeremy’s, allowing his tongue to explore. There was something that seemed odd about his old body’s tongue exploring the stud’s mouth that he currently inhabited. Jeremy gave in and started to kiss back, while reaching down he grabbed his old body’s cock and he began to gently stroke it; a sensation that felt familiar yet somehow, it was still foreign.

“Ah,” a slight gasp escaped Bart’s mouth, “That… feels so much better…” Jeremy smirked to himself, and knew he had to make him want this body. Jeremy began kissing his neck, and began making his way down to his cock, stopping to lick his nipples and nibble on them slightly; the moans escaping this imposter’s mouth only made him want his own body more. He kissed down to the dick and began to fondle his sac while rubbing his rod slightly. Bartholomew reached down to put his hands on the back of Jeremy’s borrowed head, and attempted to guide him onto his cock. Jeremy looked up and flashed a smile before standing up and turning him around, putting his old body’s hands against the wall. And he began to nibble on the back of his neck, this clearly driving Bartholomew wild, as he began to press back into Jeremy’s groin.

Jeremy licked his lips before lowering his cock and pressing it into his old ass. Something about taking his own body’s anal virginity was so hot… His anal canal was tight but he grabbed Bart’s hips and began to press with more force, hearing his old body groan in pain, he pushed until he was all the way in. “You like that big boy?” He whispered into his old body’s ear. Bart let out a moan in response; this excited Jeremy and he smirked before slowly rocking his hips back and forth, slowly building in speed. His old body’s moans drove him wild and he began to pound his ass mercilessly. Bart reached down and began to gentle stroke his rod while his ass was being fucked; shuddering with pleasure, he could barely continue stroking. He could feel this stranger’s cock swelling in his ass when he got a sudden urge…

Jeremy’s cock began to feel another pressure, not from the cum that was swelling in his dick, but as if something were forcing its way in, he knew he had his chance. He smirked before allowing his borrowed cock to blow its load into his old ass and pushing his essence through his host’s cock, and into his body’s ass; both bodies collapsed to the floor. He began forcing his way into his old body as he could sense Bartholomew’s spirit pressing into the stranger who had just fucked his body. His body began to moan as he slowly regained control of it and Jeremy began moaning in pleasure, feeling the wonderful afterglow of his orgasm; it felt strange feeling his previous host’s cock sliding out of his ass as it softened, but he enjoyed the feeling. “Who knew gay sex was so much fun?” He thought to himself while he heard his previous host groan while standing up. He turned around and saw the body he had just occupied begin to flex, running his hand across his newly acquired muscles. Something about watching those hot muscles made Jeremy horny and he stood up and went in for a kiss, tweeking the nipples of Bart’s new body. Jeremy would have so much fun with this new fuckbuddy of his…

[nman-blog]

Regaining A New Version of Youth

I would say life was good to me. Look at me. A rugged, good-looking man in his mid 40's

Who could ask for anything more.

Yes, I am not married or with anyone. Maybe I should have done things differently. But look at me. This face. This muscular physique. Leather gear might frighten a few.

One day, I was out, and I saw him. Young innocent boy next store l. A bit of the opposite of myself.

Still, he has a very nice muscular body under his fashion style.

I see him pretty much every day. He is always on my mind. What is it about him.

I was walking down the street on night. See a new shop on a small side street. NuYou was the name. I went inside.

Sign in back of the store. Become the person you wish you could be. I want back b there. A small box with a book and small bottles.

Chapter in the book "See Him - Become Him. A Step By Step Instructions on you to become someone else.

All I could think about now was to be young again. And become the young man I have been watching. A power came over me. I wanted to be him.

It had taken over me. I carried the kit with me every time I went out. Wait for that perfect moment.

Saturday afternoon. There he was to have lunch. His tray was in front of me. Being put together.

I pulled out the kit. I open the bottle and put it in his drink. Sprinkle another it on his food.

I sat back and watched him enjoy his lunch. By the time he was done eating, it was taking effect.

He got up to go use the restroom. I waited for him outside the door.

When he came out, he was moving slowly. Losing focus. I took him by the arm and we went out the back door. Being unseen by anyone in the restaurant.

I got him down the alley and got him prepared.

I grabbed his wrist and put his hands over his head.

Look at him. Soon, that will be me.

I put my mouth over.His started sucking in the air from his lungs. There will tell you.I was giving him a passionate french kiss. I didn't care. I just wanted everything with him of him.

My left hand held his arms up. As our lips locked and I started draining him.

My right hand was on his belt.I was undoing his pants. His package was getting quite swollen. I slipped down his chest. I got down on my knees. As soon as my lips touched him. He started releasing his load. I made sure I drank every drop that he gave me, not to waste any.

I felt a strong surge rushing through my body. My energy level was growing.

I went back up and started again. .You could say again. As a drink, more. From his youthful body. My hand was running through his hair. It went dark and then gray. He was aging before my eyes.

I fucked him around and I inserted my own package inside him. Between the firm butt cheeks he will soon we'll no longer have. Release my own load inside him.

I could feel myself getting younger. I was taking on his youthful appearances. He was aging quickly. His hair was now dark with grey.

I was thinking he would age like me. But his body was aging much quicker.

You live nearby and I was able to get him down the alley as their transformations are in process. Entering the back doorof hus building into his apartment.

I think this might be mine. Or will be mine.

The clothes he was wearing were strange on him.I dressed him quickly and somehow as I found.

It was caused to confused.

I started getting myself cleaned up getting dressed in his clothes. He looked like my father. I found the clothes he wore the other day sitting on a chair. It had his musk. The small is sweat. It was mine now.

I can't believe that I became him.

Starting a new adventure with my life.

I still don't know why he didn't turn into me, and if he did, it was much older version.

He was so out of it.He didn't know what was going on.

I took him downstairs and across the alley down the street. A got to my old apartment and put him inside. This is your home now.

Now that's the change that has happened.I can't believe how much I'm giving up. I did check for some old clothes in the back of the closet. These should fit my new body perfectly. It was a bit of my past to meet my new present.

I went out that night to celebrate. Decided to wear suit and treat myself to a nice dinner.

Being young and youthful again.

Our two personalities came out now. He became a little more outgoing. On weekends, I put on some of the clothes I took from my old life and went to my old hangout. I always like the way these pants did fit me perfectly.

Who say I can't have t h e best of both worlds.

[nman-blog]

"Oh yeah Dad. You look real good in these leathers. I should have morphed into you ages ago!"

The shapeshifter admired his new leather-clad body in the mirror and snapped a few selfies. He took extra time to make silly faces and sexual poses, making sure to capture every angle of his new form. After all, it's not every day you can picture your own father in such a humiliating but hot situation.

"I don't know why it took me this long to realize I could dress you up however I wanted. Gone are your days of being a good, straight family man. I'm gonna hit on every bear in that club tonight and get myself laid. I might just stay as you forever Dad!"

The shapeshifter slid his phone back into his pocket and admired his look one last time before setting out to have some real fun tonight.

"Damn it's fun being this old and big. I feel like I can take on the world! No one will see me as a puny 19-year-old twink anymore!"

[nman-blog]

As my dad drove us out to our Sunday afternoon hike, I could feel the tension in the air. My dad wanted to meet my boyfriend who lived in the next city and I was a little nervous to see how it would go. All three of us were pretty outdoorsy, so I knew we would have that in common, but I was still pretty nervous.

As my dad parked the car, he turned the engine off and looked over at me. "Son, I really do have a confession to make to you." He said seriously, putting his hand on his forehead. "I've been lying to you."

"What do you mean Dad?" I asked, not expecting those words from his mouth. "Is this about Evan?"

"Yeah it is. I haven't been entirely truthful to you." He swallowed hard before looking at me in the eyes. "I am Evan. Every weekend for the last two months... It's all been me."

Stunned and at a loss for words, I could only end up chuckling. "Dad, you're not funny. What does that even mean? I've been with Evan so much the last few months. You've never even met him."

"Son, I'm going to show you something but I don't want to freak you out." He said solemnly.

"Alright... but Dad if this is some kind of joke..."

All of a sudden, my dad scrunched his face and his forehead as he began grunting. I watched in equal parts horror and fascination as my Dad's beefy, masculine older body began to transform and take on a new build. His broad shoulders and pecs slimmed down along with his small beer belly dissipating. His lower half doing the same, shifting and contorting into the form of a young man. Lastly, the changes washed over his face as his gruff, stern expression was replaced by the youthful, carefree face of my boyfriend that I had been seeing the last few months.

I sat in silence as I watched the final changes gloss over my father as his clothes were replaced with my boyfriend's. He looked incredibly attractive in that sun shirt and cap that I loved seeing him in so often.

"I'm sorry son." My father said with his new voice. "I feel like I need to be honest with you. Evan doesn't exist. At least he doesn't in the capacity that you think."

"But-but I met him on Gr-"

"Grindr." My dad interrupted. "Yeah I did too. You deserve to know that I'm gay son. And I have the power to shapeshift."

"Dad! What the fuck! So I've been talking and dating YOU this whole time?!" I exclaimed, not believing what was happening.

"Well technically, I have all his memories. And his mannerisms. I'm not really your Dad when I'm him." Suddenly he closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders back before opening them again. "I can still be your perfect boyfriend, babe."

"Dad! I can't do this with you! Get out of him, please!"

My dad looked at his reflection in the rearview mirror and smiled, giving me a cute look as he placed his hand on his bearded chin.

"I can shapeshift you too if you want. Here, I'll transform you into my bro!" My dad reached over and touched my face as I felt a burning sensation spread across my body down to my toes. I felt my body going through similar changes as my dad, only in reverse. Instead of shrinking down, I was growing in size, muscle, and age.

"What the fuck Dad?! I'm Evan's brother?!" I yelped out feeling my bearded face and looking in horror at my phone.

"My sexy brother." My dad cooed. "It'll be fun, son. Let's go on our hike and have a little bro on bro bonding time, what do you say?"

My dad hopped out of the car with newfound energy and pep while I contemplated just how I was going to get out of this...

[nman-blog]

Stealing a gym bro's body

[nman-blog]

Preying on Him

We were at one of those Spartan type races when I saw him…what a beaut. I guess what they say about gays is true, they all end up falling for their doppelgängers. I mean maybe it’s my delusion but we shared quite a few similarities. Our physiques were similar and our heights were a near exact match. So I guess if you had like facial blindness and squinted and I dyed my hair darker we could be twins.

You may laugh because that sounds like a lot but in my head it was almost like the world challenging me to do it. I navigated my way through the mud and pulled my way towards the wall when I saw him to my left. He’s so cute and his light colored eyes were hypnotic.

I had to give up on any hopes of winning the race as I worked to trail him. I wouldn’t say I have an obsessive personality until that point but maybe that was the catalyst for it forming. I just wanted to know everything I could about him.

The race ended and I saw him meet up with a group. Once he separated and told them he’d meet them there I manufactured a moment of us “bumping” into each other. A quick glance was all I needed for now but I knew it wouldn’t be enough.

So sure I stalked him for the rest of the evening and saw him pick up on all the nuances of how he interacted with friends, how he moved, and even the cadences of his voice. His was a little raspier than mine, I mentally took note. Eventually, he separated from his friends saying he’d meet them at the after-race kickback. Returning to conventional modesty he sheathed a form fitting shirt over his lustful physique and taking a selfie to update his friends and followers.

I was nearly entranced and salivating over him. Eventually I naively decided without a plan to follow him, I trailed him as he went to the store to get liquor and snacks to share with his friends. Following him throughout the store, I began to realize that while there were similarities between us, he was like an idealized version of me. More muscle, more conventionally attractive features, and more masculine. At checkout I got close to him but kept my distance and found out his name as he sifted through his wallet for his ID, Benito, but his friends called him Benny.

It was the perfect name and reading it was nearly enough to break me. The day continued and so did my stalking, eventually leading to the kickback by a forested area by the lake. It was so chill and you could easily tell him and his friends were enviously charismatic and cool. I parked at a distance and sifted through all the random things in my car. I worked in medical device sales and I was sure I could figure out one unsellable device in here that could help me achieve my twisted climax.

Aha there’s this thing? I never could find the right psychiatrist for this one. It claimed to be an empathy device, someone incapable of feeling empathy for others could in theory garner that of the user. I don’t know if it actually worked but I’m sure I could tinker with it to make it exchange a little more than just some empathy.

As I sat there sifting through the devices code in the backseat of my car I made sure to alternate on keeping an eye on Benny. I made some tweaks and hoped I had done enough. The taser like device required skin to skin contact which was definitely a major fault with this plan but a moment presented itself as Benny waltzed away to go pee at a nearby bush. As he began to pee, I pounced turning the device on and launched at his neck. Too stunned to react, I made contact and a spark burst out and then everything went black.

I’m not sure how much later but I woke back up to some people shaking me as I lay on the ground. My blurry vision slowly started to focus and so did the. Sound of what they were saying to me. “Yo Benny dude wake up are you okay? We called the park rangers on that dude, are you good?”

I tried to hold in my laughter but a smirk appeared across my face. I had done it. They were calling me Benny. I pretended to be shocked by the attack as I snuck one of my new hands under my shirt to feel the new goods.

I told the people I just wanted to head out and go home, but my perverse desires were already taking hold of me as I walked back to my jeep. I couldn’t stop copping a feel of everything. My hands migrated one at a time from my new cobbled stomach going back and forth between relaxing and flexing, eventually moving my hands to squeeze my new arms and chest. I made my way to the vehicle and fumbled looking for an ID with a home address.

I sped off after putting it in the gps, continuing my exploration. Well over the speed limit, I was matching the speed of my heart beating as I ran my hands across my hair. I wanted to do more now but I needed to be in private.

I parked anywhere I could find at the address and ran as fast as my new muscular legs would let me. After a few failed attempts to get into the home, I made it inside and began nearly ripping my clothes off. He was so strong I could hear some seams pop as I thought I was being gentle taking it off.

I got to the last piece of clothing and was nearly salivating. I paused to savor the moment before I truly went carnal. Taking a picture before losing my innocence in this new vessel. I quickly turned my attention to the growing rod in my hardly modest boxer briefs. It may not be that long but it was intimidatingly thick. Like I needed both hands to wrangle that horse. And once I started I needed to brace myself against a wall.

I stroked with both of my hands expertly in a way this body craved. I was normally silent when doing this kind of thing, but this body wouldn’t allow that. Moans and sighs of unbelief escaped every other stroke. I don’t know if Benny lived alone but if he didn’t, everyone nearby is getting the erotic audible show of their lives.

I should’ve expected it since we met at a spartan race, but his endurance was ridiculous. Minutes in I was simultaneously beyond aroused and almost bored. I wanted to finish so bad but also never wanted it to end. And just then, I felt it and as I began to frantically look for something to finish in, it escaped everywhere. I fell to my knees as I let it release load after load in the room. I thought I had enough but couldn’t stop myself from licking up my mess on the floor, before falling over breathless.

I just laughed and walked myself to the shower. As I turned on the water, I walked back to see my new reflection in the mirror….what a good day to be Benny.

[nman-blog]

Out of Our Minds (A Body Swap Story)

Note: The discord version of this story has some videos and more photos. If you would like to read that version, you can find it here: https://discord.gg/mMY9wSu4rS

The Beginning 

Walter James Holloway, born in 1959, was a lifelong Kentucky auto mechanic, known for his grit and hard work. Years of heavy eating and little exercise had left him overweight, but he found comfort in his routines—working under car hoods by day, unwinding with a cigar by night. His bond with his son, Daniel, was distant, but with his grandson, Ryan, it was different. Ryan admired his old-school ways, even when they clashed.

Born in 1999 and shaped by Chicago, Ryan David Holloway was athletic, disciplined, and ambitious. A 6'2", 215-pound physical therapist, he dedicated himself to helping others regain mobility. City life was expensive, so when he needed a more affordable place to stay, Walter offered him a room. The arrangement suited them both—Walter enjoyed the company, and Ryan appreciated the short commute to his sports rehab job.

The night of the accident, the chill in the air had been sharper than expected. Walter had shivered, rubbing his thick hands together before eyeing Ryan’s coat. His own was too thin for the dropping temperature, so Ryan handed over his heavier jacket without a second thought. Neither man realized the mistake—their wallets, tucked into their respective coat pockets, had now been switched. As they got into the car, Walter stubbornly insisted on driving. He claimed Ryan had drunk too much at the gathering, even though Ryan had barely touched his glass. The old man wouldn’t listen, convinced that his grandson was unfit to drive. Reluctantly, Ryan let him take the wheel.

The hum of the highway filled the silence between them. Walter’s hands gripped the wheel firmly at first, but then his fingers slackened. A wave of dizziness hit him, his vision narrowing to a tunnel. His chest tightened, and for a split second, his mind blanked—his body freezing up as he experienced a transient ischemic attack. The car swerved wildly. Ryan reacted instantly, reaching over to grab the wheel, but the sudden movement only made things worse. Tires screeched, the vehicle spun, and before either of them could fully comprehend what was happening, they crashed headlong into the highway divider. The impact sent the car flipping multiple times before it crumpled into a final, jarring stop.

The collision was so violent that their skulls fractured, and their brains were ejected from their heads upon impact. Walter’s brain, dislodged from his shattered skull, landed just beside Ryan’s unconscious body, while Ryan’s brain tumbled near Walter’s motionless form. The grotesque sight painted the wreckage in tragedy, their identities now quite literally displaced.

Emergency responders arrived to find both men unconscious, their skulls fractured from the violent collision. The impact had been so severe that their brains were ejected from their heads upon impact. Walter’s brain, dislodged from his shattered skull, landed just beside Ryan’s unconscious body, while Ryan’s brain tumbled near Walter’s motionless form. The grotesque sight painted the wreckage in tragedy, their identities now quite literally displaced.

Paramedics rushed them to the nearest hospital, where chaos and confusion took hold. Due to their exchanged coats, the hospital staff misidentified them. Their last names matched, their faces were too swollen to compare to their IDs, and in the frantic rush to surgery, no one double-checked. Their medical files were also misplaced and mislabeled, further cementing the misidentification.

Relying on mislabeled records, the lead neurosurgeon reviewed their brain scans. One brain, though outwardly resembling that of an elderly individual, exhibited an unusual level of rapid healing—traits typically found in much younger patients. This was, in reality, Walter’s brain, but the accident had triggered a restoration process that made it appear younger. The other brain, while structurally younger, showed significant inflammation and signs of deterioration more commonly associated with advanced age. This was actually Ryan’s brain, which had suffered more damage from the accident, making it seem far older than it truly was.

The medical team analyzed the locations where the brains had landed, mistakenly believing that the brain near the muscular body belonged to the younger patient and the brain near the older, overweight body belonged to the elderly man. Compounded by misidentification and limited time, the surgeons made a catastrophic assumption—believing Ryan’s brain to belong to Walter and Walter’s brain to belong to Ryan. 

The hospital staff proceeded with what they thought was a life-saving operation. They addressed the extensive trauma to their skulls and bodies, miraculously sparing their internal organs. After repairing the fractures, they carefully placed the dislodged brains into what they assumed were their correct bodies. What should have been a clerical correction became a medical catastrophe.

The Awakening

Walter awoke with a start, his heart pounding like a jackhammer in his chest. His vision blurred for a moment, then sharpened with a clarity he hadn’t experienced in years. He blinked, confused. Wait… he thought, reaching up to rub his eyes. His hand—his hand—caught his attention. It was large, strong, and calloused, but not from decades of wrenching on cars. This was something else entirely. He flexed his biceps, marveling at the ease with which they moved. No stiffness. No ache.

He sat up slowly, the movement effortless, and glanced around the hospital room. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled his nose, but his body felt… different. Alive. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. His knees didn’t creak. His back didn’t protest. He stood, his breath catching in his throat as he realized just how tall he was. He felt… powerful.

Walter took a few tentative steps, each one feeling lighter than the last. His feet carried him with a grace he hadn’t known in decades. He glanced down at his body—Wait, this isn’t my body. His chest was broad, his arms muscular, his waist trim. He ran his hands over his torso, his fingers tracing the contours of hard muscle. This isn’t me. His heart raced as he stumbled toward the bathroom, his reflection in the mirror stopping him dead in his tracks.

Staring back at him was Ryan.

Walter froze, his breath hitching. No. No, this can’t be real. He stepped closer, his hands trembling as he reached up to touch the mirror. The face—Ryan’s face—mimicked his movements perfectly. He turned his head, examining the sharp jawline, the stubble that shadowed his face, the piercing blue eyes that seemed to hold a life of their own. This… this is Ryan’s body.

Stepping out of the bathroom, Walter—now in Ryan’s body—grabbed Ryan’s smartphone from the nightstand. He tapped the screen, the bright glow illuminating his new, youthful face. His heart pounded with exhilaration as he stared into the selfie camera, tilting his head to admire the sharp jawline, the smooth skin untouched by age. He ran a hand through his thick hair, relishing the unfamiliar yet thrilling sensation. The reflection staring back at him was strong, vibrant—everything he had lost over the years, now his to claim.

Bringing the phone back into the bathroom, he placed it on the sink, angling the camera just right before hitting record. Walter flexed, watching his bicep swell with power, then smirked as he reached under his arm, rubbing the thick patch of armpit hair with satisfaction. The sensation sent a wave of pride through him—this body was youthful, masculine, perfect. Grinning, he grabbed the phone, lowering the camera to capture the tight ridges of his abs, tracing a hand over them possessively before finally lifting the phone to his face. His smirk widened as he locked eyes with his reflection, drinking in his own smug satisfaction.

But the curiosity didn’t stop there. His eyes drifted lower, over his flat stomach, toward the waistband of his hospital-issued pants.

His heart pounded as he slid them down, revealing the thick, heavy weight of Ryan’s bulge. Walter’s breath hitched, his fingers trembling as removed his underwear. He touched his new cock and it was warm, heavy, and currently his own. He gave it an experimental stroke, a moan escaping his lips as pleasure shot through him...

Then he observed it even more and began to make his dick and balls swing like a pendulum

He leaned against the wall, his knees weak as he continued to stroke himself, the sensations overwhelming. His other hand wandered, exploring every inch of his new body. He pinched his nipples, gasping as the sparks of pleasure intensified. He ran his fingers through the coarse hair on his chest, down his sides, over his hips. Every touch felt electric.

Walter paused, his nostrils flaring as he caught a whiff of something. He lifted his arm, touching his armpit hair and then inhaling deeply. The scent was musky, masculine, and familiar. It was Ryan’s scent—his cologne, his sweat, him. Walter’s cock twitched in his hand, his arousal spiking. He couldn’t help himself. He leaned in, burying his face in the crook of his elbow, breathing in the intoxicating aroma. It was primal, raw, and his.

His strokes grew faster, his body trembling with need. He tilted his head back, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as pleasure coiled tightly in his gut. This is… this is too much. But he couldn’t stop. His hips bucked into his hand, his cock throbbing with every stroke. He moaned, the sound low and guttural, filling the small bathroom. His balls tightened, his release building with every passing second.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his grip tightening as he edged closer and closer to the brink. His muscles tensed, his body shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through him. And then he was there, his orgasm crashing over him like a tidal wave. He came with a shout, his cock pulsing as thick ropes of cum spurted onto the floor. He collapsed against the sink, his legs trembling as he rode out the aftershocks, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Walter stared at the mess he’d made, a strange mix of guilt and satisfaction swirling in his chest. He had just jacked off in his grandson’s body. What the hell is wrong with me? But even as the thought crossed his mind, he couldn’t deny the exhilaration coursing through him. This body—Ryan’s body—was incredible. And it was his right now.

He cleaned himself up, his mind racing as he tried to process everything. He needed to figure out what had happened. How he’d ended up in Ryan’s body. But for now, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of… excitement. He looked at his reflection one more time, a sly grin spreading across his face. This is going to be interesting.

Ryan’s consciousness drifted back slowly, his mind groggy as if weighed down by something heavy. His whole body felt wrong—bloated, sluggish, stiff. A dull ache radiated through his limbs, his joints protesting even the slightest movement. His chest rose and fell, but his breaths were deeper, heavier, almost labored. Something was off—terribly off. His heart pounded, but instead of its usual strong, steady rhythm, it felt slower, weaker, unfamiliar. He swallowed hard, his throat raw and dry, and when he moved his hands, they felt thicker, rougher. Panic crept in.

His fingers brushed against his face, and his stomach dropped. His skin was loose, not firm and smooth like it should be. He traced over deep wrinkles, then moved up to his head—his hair. His heart clenched. The thick, youthful strands were gone, replaced by thinning hair and a balding scalp. His breath quickened as he looked down, only to see a broad, heavy gut stretching his hospital gown. His arms were thicker, softer, with veins more pronounced and skin slightly sagging. His chest was heavier, fleshier, completely wrong.

This wasn’t his body. His hands fumbled beside him, landing on a pair of glasses on the nightstand. His trembling fingers slid them on, and suddenly, the world snapped into focus. Desperation overtook him as he reached blindly for the phone on the nightstand, his unfamiliar, clumsy hands struggling to grip it properly. He turned on the screen, his breath coming in sharp gasps as he opened the camera app and switched to selfie mode. His entire body froze. Staring back at him was Walter. His grandfather’s face. 

The lined, aging skin, the receding hair, the tired, sunken eyes—it was all there. His breath hitched as he slowly touched his cheek, watching Walter’s reflection mimic his every movement. His fingers trailed down to his heavy jaw, the rough stubble, the loose skin of his neck. His horror deepened as he lowered the phone, angling it toward his chest—the bulky stomach, the unfamiliar flesh. His own grandfather’s body. His vision blurred—not from the lack of glasses, but from pure, overwhelming dread. The phone slipped from his hands, clattering onto the sheets as he screamed. This couldn’t be real. But it was.

In the other room, Walter’s exploration was cut short when a sound froze him in place. A voice. A voice he had known all his life. His own voice—but weak, hoarse, and laced with panic. He cleaned himself up immediately and wore his hospital robes once more. 

Walter turned abruptly, his heart pounding. He followed the noise, pushing open the door and stepping into the hallway. Another hospital room. He moved quickly, his newfound speed shocking him. As he approached, he heard rustling, then a sharp intake of breath—followed by a scream.

Walter shoved the door open and stopped in his tracks.

Walter froze in the doorway, his breath hitching as he got his first real look at the body he had left behind. His old body. Ryan was sitting on the hospital bed, hunched forward, his face twisted in shock and horror. But it wasn’t just the face—it was everything. The broad, sloping gut, the soft arms, the sagging flesh hanging from his neck. Was this really what he had looked like all this time? The sight sent a shiver of revulsion down his spine. He had always known he was overweight and old, but seeing it from the outside made it so much worse. How had he lived like this? His breath was heavier, his posture slouched, his very presence sluggish. Walter clenched his jaw, forcing down the wave of disgust and relief threatening to bubble up. Because now, that wasn’t him anymore.

Ryan’s head snapped up at the sound of movement, and his breath caught. A man stood in the doorway—young, muscular, shirtless. His body. His body was standing there, staring at him. His stomach twisted in confusion. How was this possible? His pulse pounded as the world sharpened. The stranger wasn’t a stranger. He knew that face—the sharp jawline, the confident stance, the broad chest. But it was wrong.

Walter took a slow step forward, his powerful legs carrying him effortlessly, but he kept his expression carefully neutral. "Ryan," he said cautiously, pretending to hesitate.

Ryan inhaled sharply at the sound of his own voice coming from someone else’s mouth. His hands clutched the hospital sheets, knuckles white. “No… no, no, no… that can’t be…” He swallowed hard, his throat tight, his body trembling as he looked up at the man—at himself. “Grandpa?” His voice wasn’t his voice. It was rougher, weaker—Walter’s.

Walter nodded slowly, as if the realization pained him, but inside, he felt a thrill of satisfaction. "I don't know how," he said, carefully keeping his tone neutral, masking the excitement rising in his chest. “But we woke up like this. We woke up as each other.”

Ryan let out a shaky exhale, staring down at himself in disbelief, his hands gripping at the thickened flesh of his stomach. His own grandfather’s body. His breath quickened as he clutched at the loose skin, the soft flesh of his arms, the unfamiliar weight pressing down on him. He had felt strong his entire life, but now? Now he felt heavy, sluggish, weak.

They stepped closer, eyes locked, studying what they had lost and gained.

Ryan’s wrinkled hand trembled as he reached out, pressing against Walter’s hard abs, then his solid pecs. He squeezed—firm, powerful, his pecs. His fingers drifted up, brushing through thick, luscious hair—his hair. A shudder ran through him as he traced his strong jawline, the smooth skin.

Then, he hesitated, looking at his own body. Slowly, he raised a shaking hand to his bald scalp. His breath hitched at the thin, wiry strands left behind. His grip moved to his soft chest, squeezing—nothing but sagging weight.

Walter finally reached out, gripping Ryan’s weak arm, squeezing the loose, aging flesh. His fingers pressed into Ryan’s soft pecs—his old manboobs—and he barely hid his disgust. He lingered only for a moment before stepping back, rolling his strong shoulders.

A knock on the door interrupted them. Both turned as a nurse stepped in. “Oh, good. You’re both awake. The doctors will be in shortly to see you.”

“This can’t be real.” He turned toward Walter, who stood there in Ryan’s youthful body, an almost dazed expression on his face. “ Tell them,” Ryan pleaded, his voice rising. “Tell them we’re not who they think we are!” Walter, shaken but more composed, nodded grimly. 

When the doctors finally arrived, their expressions neutral but professional, Ryan wasted no time. 

“We—we’ve switched,” he blurted, gripping the sheets of his hospital bed with his trembling hands. “That’s not my grandfather. 

That’s me in his body. And—and I’m in his.” His voice cracked, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Walter, in Ryan’s body, took a step forward. “It’s true,” he said. “I woke up in his body, and he woke up in mine. Something went wrong.” 

The doctors exchanged puzzled glances before one of them cleared his throat. “Mr. Holloway, you’re disoriented from the accident,” he started, but Ryan cut him off. 

“I know who I am!” he snapped, the exertion making his new body’s chest heave. 

“I don’t care what my name says on your charts. That’s my body standing right there.” He pointed a trembling finger at Walter. 

The medical team looked between them, skepticism etched onto their faces—until another doctor, flipping through a tablet, suddenly paled. He exhaled sharply. 

“My God,” he muttered, drawing the attention of his colleagues. Looking up, he hesitated before speaking. 

“We… we may have made a terrible mistake.” 

The air in the room thickened as he explained, voice cautious yet urgent. 

“During surgery, we relied on multiple factors to identify the bodies—facial structure, ID tags, personal effects. But their faces were swollen beyond recognition, and their medical files were mislabeled in the chaos. Their coats had been switched, leading to further confusion. We assumed the brain found closest to each body was the correct one.” He paused, gripping the tablet tighter. 

“But that assumption… was wrong.” Another doctor, looking equally unsettled, pulled up the brain scans. “We should’ve known,” she admitted, her voice tight with regret. 

“Walter’s brain, despite its age, exhibited an accelerated healing response, which is why it looked younger in the initial scans. Meanwhile, Ryan’s brain suffered significant trauma, causing inflammation and deterioration, making it appear older than it really was. 

We mistook those neurological differences for evidence of their respective ages and—” she hesitated, exhaling slowly, “—we placed the wrong brains in the wrong bodies.” 

The words hit like a sledgehammer. Ryan’s knees buckled, and he barely caught himself against the bed. 

“Fix it,” he gasped. “Switch us back.” The doctors exchanged grim looks before one of them finally spoke.

 “We can’t.” 

Walter and Ryan froze. The doctor continued, his voice heavy with finality. 

“The reconnection process was incredibly delicate. Your neural pathways have already begun adapting to their new hosts. Any attempt to reverse the procedure would result in severe, irreversible brain damage—possibly death.” He swallowed. 

“There’s no way to undo this.” Another doctor stepped forward, regret plain on her face. “We are deeply sorry,” she said, “but the swap is permanent.” 

The words sent a wave of cold dread through Ryan. His breath came in short gasps as reality crashed over him. He was trapped. This body—this slow, aching, unfamiliar form—was his for the rest of his life. Forever.

Ryan’s body sagged. Walter, too, felt the weight of those words, though the sting was dulled by the strange exhilaration running through him. Permanent. He would never go back. Walter realized that he would never feel that old body again. His mind warred between horror and an undeniable thrill.

The doctors exchanged uneasy glances before speaking again. “For now, we strongly advise keeping this a secret.”

Ryan’s head snapped up. “What?”

“If this gets out,” the doctor continued, “it could lead to medical lawsuits, ethical scandals, media chaos. The hospital would be ruined. Your lives would be turned upside down.” He glanced between them, his voice firm. “It’s best if you assume each other’s lives.”

Walter’s lips parted in shock. Ryan looked utterly stricken.

“As far as the world is concerned,” the doctor said, “you are Ryan Holloway.” He turned to Walter. “And you are Walter Holloway.” His gaze was unyielding. “That is how the hospital will refer to you, and that is how your families will know you.”

Ryan was visibly horrified. His whole life—his identity—had been stripped away in an instant. But Walter… Walter could feel the seed of something dangerous, something exhilarating taking root within him. He had been old, tired, and at the end of his road. But now? Now, he had everything ahead of him again.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Walter James Holloway felt truly alive.

The Initial Adjustment 

To help them adjust, they were referred to psychiatry. The psychologist assigned to their case, Dr. Evelyn Carter, was a woman of firm composure and measured words. She wasted no time in establishing the gravity of their situation. "For your mental and emotional well-being," she explained during their first session, "you must fully integrate into your new identities. There can be no doubt, no hesitation. From now on, Walter James Holloway is Ryan David Holloway. And Ryan David Holloway is Walter James Holloway."

Ryan sat stiffly in his chair, hands clenched into fists. His body, now weighed down by age, ached with every movement, and he felt suffocated by the reality that this was now his existence. Across from him, Walter sat in Ryan’s youthful body, leaning back with a relaxed ease that only made Ryan's fury burn hotter. "This is ridiculous," Ryan muttered. "You're asking me to pretend to be someone I’m not."

Dr. Carter’s gaze was steady. "I'm asking you to survive. If you refuse to accept this, your mind will reject your new body, leading to severe dissociation, depression, and possibly worse. The human psyche craves consistency. You must become Walter in every way possible. And you—" she turned to Walter, "—must embrace being Ryan."

Walter gave a slow nod, as if considering her words, but Ryan saw the glimmer of something else in his expression—excitement. He already knew Walter was relishing this, the chance to start over in a body full of strength and vitality. Ryan wanted to scream.

Dr. Carter, however, had no patience for resistance. She was relentless, her approach clinical and unforgiving. "You will commit to this," she said with an icy firmness. "Every hesitation, every denial, every refusal to accept your new identity will only make this harder. You are Walter. Period. If you cannot embrace that, you will never be able to function in the life that is now yours." She leaned forward, her piercing gaze locking onto Ryan’s weary eyes. "From this moment on, you will respond to ‘Walter.’ You will introduce yourself as Walter. If you hesitate, if you falter, we will start again until you get it right."

Ryan seethed with frustration, but there was no room for argument. Every day, Dr. Carter drilled it into him. Morning sessions were brutal. "Say it again," she ordered. Ryan’s voice was hoarse from repetition.

"I am Walter James Holloway. I am sixty-five years old."

"Louder."

Ryan swallowed hard, his throat dry. "I am Walter James Holloway," he repeated, each word tasting like poison.

"Again."

Meanwhile, Walter, in his youthful, powerful form, flourished under the same treatment. He practically beamed as he repeated his lines, sitting up straighter with every declaration. "I am Ryan David Holloway. I am twenty-six years old. I am young, strong, and full of life." His voice carried confidence—more than Ryan ever had.

Dr. Carter only reinforced this divide, encouraging Walter’s transition into Ryan’s life while pushing Ryan further into his new role. She arranged daily conversations where Ryan had to describe "his" past experiences as Walter—his first car, the long hours in the repair shop, his favorite cigar brand. "Make it real," she insisted when he hesitated. "Believe it. Because no one else will believe you if you don’t."

Dr. Carter took the exercises a step further, introducing direct role-play into their sessions. One morning, she placed two chairs in the middle of the room and gestured for them to sit. "We’re going to reinforce your identities with introductions," she announced. "Walter, introduce your grandson."

Ryan tensed. His throat tightened as he glanced at Walter, who sat across from him with an infuriatingly relaxed grin. Dr. Carter’s expectant gaze left him no choice. He swallowed hard. "This is my grandson, Ryan," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Louder. More confidence."

Ryan clenched his fists, forcing the words out again. "This is my grandson, Ryan David Holloway." The statement felt wrong, like a betrayal of everything he was.

Walter, meanwhile, sat up straight, puffing out his chest. "And this is my grandpa, Walter James Holloway," he said with a smug ease, gesturing toward Ryan. He even threw in a playful pat on Ryan’s knee. "He’s had a long life, worked hard as a mechanic, and now he’s enjoying retirement."

Ryan’s jaw clenched as he heard the words. Retirement. It was another nail in the coffin.

Dr. Carter nodded approvingly before moving to the next phase. She held up a photo of Ryan’s old body, shirtless at the gym, muscles defined and glistening with sweat. "Who is this?"

Walter smirked. "That’s me," he said proudly. "Ryan Holloway. I work out regularly, and I take pride in my physique." He flexed his arm slightly, as if to emphasize the truth of his statement.

Ryan wanted to throw the chair. Instead, he forced himself to mumble, "That’s my grandson."

Dr. Carter didn’t let him off easy. "Say it properly."

Ryan inhaled sharply through his nose. "That’s my grandson, Ryan David Holloway. He’s twenty-six years old, works as a physical therapist, and is in excellent shape."

Walter chuckled under his breath. "Thanks, Grandpa. Appreciate that."

Dr. Carter then held up another photo, this one of old Walter—his overweight, aging frame sitting on a lounge chair near the pool. "And who is this?"

Ryan felt sick. "That’s... me."

"Full sentence," Dr. Carter pressed.

"That’s me. I’m Walter James Holloway. I’m sixty-five years old, and I used to be a mechanic." The words made his stomach turn, but Dr. Carter simply nodded in approval.

Walter leaned back with a grin. "Yeah, that’s my grandpa," he said casually, glancing at the image. "He’s been through a lot, but he’s still kicking." He turned to Ryan with a smirk. "Ain’t that right, old man?"

Ryan ground his teeth. He didn’t respond.

The exercises continued—more questions designed to hammer their new identities into place. Dr. Carter would ask who was older, who was younger. Who was strong, who was weaker.

"Ryan, stand up and describe your daily fitness routine," she instructed.

Walter eagerly complied, launching into an enthusiastic monologue about "his" morning runs, weightlifting, and strict nutrition. He flexed his arms playfully, smirking at Ryan as if reveling in his newfound youth.

Then she turned to Ryan. "Walter, describe your typical day before the accident."

Ryan was forced to mutter about oil changes, cigar breaks, and back pain. Each time he faltered, Dr. Carter would correct him, forcing him to repeat the statement until it sounded natural. Each time, Walter grinned, enjoying every second of his new role. And every time Ryan looked in the mirror, the reality became harder to deny.

Dr. Carter intensified their conditioning by incorporating physical and sensory exercises. She had them touch and feel their bodies, comparing them to what they remembered before the accident.

"Ryan, describe how your skin feels. The texture, the muscle tone, everything."

Walter ran his hands along his arms, his biceps firm and strong. "My skin is smooth, my muscles are defined. I feel powerful, full of energy. It’s like I have endless stamina."

She turned to Ryan. "And you, Walter?"

Ryan hesitated before placing a hand on his stomach, feeling the softer flesh, the wrinkles on his hands. "My skin is looser, my muscles are weaker. My joints ache. My fingers feel stiff. I’m..." He swallowed hard. "I’m older."

Dr. Carter nodded approvingly. "Good. Acknowledging these changes will help your mind accept them. Now, let’s work on movement."

She made them practice mannerisms. Ryan had to learn the slower, heavier gait of an aging man, the slight stoop, the way old Walter used to rub his lower back absentmindedly. Walter, meanwhile, had to master a youthful stride, the way Ryan used to bounce on the balls of his feet when excited, the casual confidence of a younger man.

Walter took to it with ease, exaggerating Ryan’s old habits at first but gradually settling into a natural flow. He walked with effortless energy, stretched his shoulders confidently, and even practiced grinning at his reflection the way Ryan used to. He was absorbing the role with glee, while Ryan struggled to let go of his former self.

Dr. Carter was relentless. "Again. Walter, you should be moving slower. You’ve had a long life, and your body has the weight of years. Show it."

Ryan sighed, shifting his posture to mimic an elderly man’s careful movements. "Like this?"

"Better. But I want it to be second nature. We’ll keep practicing."

Then came the hypnosis.

Dr. Carter dimmed the lights, her voice a steady, rhythmic pulse in the dimly lit room. "Close your eyes. Take slow, deep breaths. With every exhale, let go of who you were. With every inhale, become who you are meant to be."

The air grew thick with the weight of suggestion, their minds sinking deeper with every word. "You are stepping into a grand hall," Dr. Carter murmured, "a palace of memory, a mind palace where truth is revealed. Look around you. This place is yours. It has always been yours. Walk through its corridors, see the reflections of your life."

Ryan and Walter found themselves standing within the endless mirrored halls, their surroundings shifting like a dream. The polished floors reflected them perfectly, stretching endlessly into the distance. But something was wrong. The reflections weren’t right.

Ryan peered into the glass, and his heart pounded. His old body—his real body—stared back at him. The strong jawline, the youthful vigor, the sharp, defiant eyes. But as he watched, the image flickered, warping ever so slightly.

Dr. Carter’s voice was patient, inescapable. "You were always Walter, weren’t you?" she said, her tone like silk wrapping around his thoughts. "From the moment you were born, you were Walter James Holloway. You grew up fixing cars. You built a life, had a grandson. And that grandson... is Ryan David Holloway."

The new Walter shook his head, but his reflection wavered. The skin grew looser, lines forming where there had been none. His shoulders slumped, the once-defined muscles softening, weakening. His hands, resting at his sides, twitched as the veins became more pronounced, the skin weathered. He could feel it—the slow, inevitable transformation sinking into him, reshaping his very sense of self.

Dr. Carter then turned her attention to the new Ryan. "And you, Ryan. You are young, full of energy, full of potential. You’ve always been Ryan, always twenty-six. You were born into strength and health. That old life you remember? That was someone else’s story. Look at yourself. Accept what you see."

Walter stepped toward his reflection with a reverent gaze. He had expected to see his old, worn face. Instead, Ryan’s youthful form stared back at him, powerful and whole. His chest tightened with something dangerously close to relief.

The new Walter’s breath came in ragged gasps as the transformation continued. His reflection—the one that had been his true self—was fading. The gray hair took root. The skin sagged, wrinkles deepened. His back hunched slightly. The young man he had been was disappearing before his eyes, swallowed by the reality being woven around him.

The new Ryan, standing beside him, beamed at his own reflection. His body—no, Ryan’s body—stood tall and strong, exuding the confidence of youth. He touched his face, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, running a hand through thick, dark hair. "This is right," he said, the words coming naturally now. "This is how it has always been."

Dr. Carter’s voice wrapped around them both, sealing their fates. "There was no surgery mishap. There was no switch. Walter was, is, and always will be Walter. Ryan was, is, and always will be Ryan. It was meant to be this way. It has always been this way."

The old Ryan tried to speak, to protest, but the words dissolved before they reached his lips. His mind felt like sand slipping through his fingers. The past was distant, blurred, uncertain. And the mirror before him—the mirror that had once reflected the truth—now showed only the inescapable reality. He was Walter. He had always been Walter.

The old Walter, now fully embracing his new existence, straightened, stretching his arms as if testing the strength that belonged to him now. "That felt... good," he admitted, his voice filled with satisfaction.

Ryan blinked groggily, his head aching. He turned toward the mirror one last time, desperate to see something—anything—of his old self. But the face staring back at him was unfamiliar. Not just in appearance, but in identity.

Dr. Carter smiled. "Good. We’ll continue this tomorrow. We’re making progress."

Outside of sessions, Walter made it worse. He had fully embraced his role as the younger man and took every opportunity to taunt Ryan for his struggles. "C’mon, Grandpa," he’d say with a smirk when Ryan groaned as he lowered himself into a chair. "Takes a while to get used to the ol’ joints, huh?"

Ryan gritted his teeth, refusing to acknowledge him. But Walter didn’t stop. He took pleasure in watching Ryan fumble with his new limitations, chuckling when Ryan dropped something and struggled to bend down and pick it up. "Want me to get that for you?" he’d ask mockingly, flexing his arms for emphasis.

At mealtimes, Walter would take exaggerated bites of his food, sighing in delight. "Damn, this metabolism is something else," he’d say, patting his flat stomach. "I could eat a whole pizza and not feel a thing." He’d then glance at Ryan, whose plate was filled with doctor-recommended portions for an elderly man. "Better watch your sodium, though. Gotta be careful at your age."

The more Walter thrived, the more Ryan suffered. And worst of all, no one cared. No one believed he was suffering at all.

Beyond the psychological conditioning, they were also referred to rehabilitation medicine to help them adjust physically. Ryan despised it. Every exercise session was a brutal reminder of how weak and sluggish his body had become. He struggled with basic movements, his joints stiff, his muscles sore from even the lightest exertion. He used to love pushing his limits in the gym, but now? Now, simply standing from a chair felt like an ordeal. Worse, the cravings gnawed at him—a deep, incessant yearning for nicotine. Walter’s old habits had latched onto him like a vice. He found himself gritting his teeth, fingers twitching for a cigar he didn’t even want.

Walter, on the other hand, was thriving. He attacked every workout with an eagerness that left Ryan seething. He ran, he lifted, he moved with a joy that Ryan had once taken for granted. The burn of his muscles, the soreness after an intense session—Walter embraced it all. He reveled in the sensation of sweat rolling down his back, the musk of his own body after pushing it to the limit. He even took deep breaths after each session, enjoying the raw, earthy scent of exertion. "Damn, I missed this," he murmured more than once, flexing his arms in the mirror, watching the way his muscles tensed and released with effortless precision.

The divide between them grew wider with each passing day. The more Walter embraced his new identity, the more Ryan felt like he was fading away. And no matter how hard he tried to fight it, the reality was settling in: he was no longer Ryan David Holloway. He was Walter. And there was no way out.

The Request

One evening, Ryan sat on the edge of his hospital bed, his wrinkled hands gripping the stiff sheets, his body still aching from the trauma of the accident. The dim hospital lighting cast long shadows across the room, making it feel colder than it was. The door creaked open, and in stepped the new Ryan—his former body—tall, strong, and exuding a presence that made Ryan’s stomach twist. Walter, now a young man, moved with an effortless confidence that Ryan never had, his every step controlled and precise. He grinned, shutting the door behind him with an air of authority.

"Hey, Grandpa," Walter said smoothly, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. The way he said it—casual, natural—sent a spike of anger through Ryan’s chest.

Ryan clenched his jaw, refusing to respond right away. He had been waiting for this moment, wondering if Walter would slip up—if he would acknowledge the truth, even just for a second. "Grandpa," Ryan said pointedly, his voice rough and unfamiliar to his own ears. "You know who I really am."

Walter smirked, pushing himself off the wall and strolling closer. "I do," he said, his voice teasing. "You're my grandpa, Walter Holloway." He reached out and patted Ryan's knee in a patronizing gesture. "And I’m your grandson, Ryan. Took me a bit, but I think I’m finally getting used to it."

Ryan’s hands curled into fists. "Stop it," he hissed. "You know that’s not true." His chest tightened as he searched Walter’s face for any sign of recognition, of doubt, of something—anything—that would prove he wasn’t alone in this nightmare. But there was nothing. Only that infuriating grin.

Walter pulled up a chair, sitting across from him, his posture relaxed, completely at ease in his new body. "Why fight it, Grandpa?" he said with exaggerated patience. "You heard Dr. Carter. We have to accept who we are now.”

Ryan swallowed hard, his throat dry as he stared at the man before him—his body, his youth, his entire life, now inhabited by someone else. The weight of his wrinkled hands resting on his lap only deepened the ache in his chest. He needed something—anything—to hold on to. A compromise. A semblance of his old identity.

"Grandpa," Ryan started, his voice low, hesitant. "What if… just when it’s just us… we still call each other by our real names? I don’t mean in front of the doctors or anyone else, just… in private." His tired eyes searched Ryan’s old handsome face, hoping—begging—for some kind of understanding. "I just—I need something to hold on to. Something real."

Walter tilted his head, considering the plea for a moment. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a smirk. "Nah," he said simply.

Ryan stiffened. "What?"

Walter chuckled, stepping closer, his movements loose, confident, utterly at home in the body that should have been Ryan’s. "No can do, Grandpa. See, that’s the problem—you keep looking back, clinging to something that isn’t yours anymore." He placed a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, squeezing just enough to make him feel the difference in their strength now. "You heard Dr. Carter. That part of your life is gone. And the sooner you accept it, the easier this will be for you."

Ryan's nails dug into his palms. "I am Ryan," he gritted out.

Walter gave a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. "Still not getting it, huh? Alright then, let me help you."

With that, he reached down and grabbed the hem of his hospital gown, pulling it up and over his head in one smooth motion. The hospital’s dim lighting cast shadows over his defined abs, his broad chest—the physique Ryan had worked years to maintain, now standing tall before him, stolen. Walter flexed his arms slightly, rolling his shoulders as if savoring the feeling of being young and powerful.

Ryan could only stare, his breath shallow, his insides twisting.

Walter smirked. "Take a good look, Grandpa," he said, running a hand over his chest before giving his bicep a slow, deliberate flex. "This is my body now. Not yours. Not ever again. You see, it doesn’t matter what you remember. What matters is what’s real. And this—" he gestured down at himself, at the sculpted muscles, the youthful skin, "—this is real. You? You’re just an old man now. An old man who needs to stop pretending."

Ryan felt something inside him crack.

Walter grabbed his shirt from where he had tossed it onto the bed but didn’t put it back on. Instead, he took a step closer, towering over Ryan. "You wanted a moment of honesty between us? Fine. Here’s some honesty: It’s over. There’s no going back. This body belongs to me now, and the sooner you let it go, the easier this will be." He patted Ryan’s knee mockingly. "So go ahead, Grandpa. Say goodbye. Otherwise, I’ll make you."

Ryan's vision blurred, his breath shuddering in his chest. Even his own grandfather or rather… grandson—even Walter—refused to give him a sliver of acknowledgment.

Walter stood in front of the full-length mirror, his—no, Ryan’s—body glistening under the soft light of the room. He ran his hands over his chest, feeling the firm ridges of muscles that now belonged to him. His reflection stared back, young, strong, vibrant. It was perfection.

He turned to Ryan, who was slumped in a chair, his shoulders hunched, looking every bit the frail old man he now was. Walter smirked, the corners of his lips curling upward in a cruel, knowing way.

"Strip," Walter commanded, his voice low and firm, leaving no room for argument.

Ryan’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. "What? Why would I—"

"Because I said so," Walter interrupted, his tone sharp. He took a step closer, his towering frame looming over Ryan. "You need to face reality, old man. Our reality. So strip. Now."

Ryan hesitated, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for the hem of his shirt. He pulled it over his head, revealing the sagging, wrinkled skin of Walter’s old body. His stomach hung slightly, the muscles long gone, replaced by softness that spoke of years of neglect.

Walter’s eyes raked over him, his expression a mix of amusement and disdain. "Good," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Now the pants."

Ryan’s face flushed with humiliation, but he obeyed, awkwardly shimmying out of his pants until he was naked and exposed. His body was a stark contrast to Walter’s—young, powerful, arrogant.

Walter stepped back, his eyes never leaving Ryan as he began to strip as well. His movements were deliberate, almost theatrical, as he peeled off his shirt, revealing the chiseled chest and abs that Ryan had spent years building. He kicked off his pants, standing tall and confident, his body on full display.

"Look at us," Walter said, spreading his arms wide as if to emphasize the difference. "Isn’t it perfect?"

Ryan couldn’t look away, his eyes darting between Walter’s body and his own. His shame was palpable, but there was something else there too—something darker, more primal. A flicker of arousal that he desperately tried to suppress.

Walter noticed, of course. His smirk widened, and he took a step closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "You like what you see, don’t you, Grandpa?"

Ryan’s breath hitched, his face turning a deep shade of red. "I—I don’t—"

"Don’t lie to me," Walter interrupted, his tone sharp. "I can see it in your eyes. You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?"

Ryan’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. His heart was pounding, his body betraying him in ways he couldn’t control.

Walter laughed, a low, dark chuckle that sent shivers down Ryan’s spine. "Admit it," he demanded, his voice firm. "Tell me who’s the grandpa and who’s the grandson now."

Ryan’s jaw tightened, his pride warring with the humiliation coursing through him. "You’re the grandson," he finally muttered, the words barely audible.

"Louder," Walter commanded, his eyes blazing with intensity.

"You’re the grandson," Ryan repeated, his voice trembling. "And I… I’m the grandpa."

Walter’s grin was triumphant, his chest swelling with satisfaction. "That’s right," he said, his tone dripping with superiority. "And this?" He gestured to his body, running a hand over his chest. "This is mine now. Every muscle, every inch of skin. Mine."

Walter stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he loomed over the frail, wrinkled man in front of him. "You’ve always been so jealous of me, haven’t you?" he taunted, his voice slow, deliberate, dripping with cruel amusement. "Even before all this, you wanted what I had. And now…" He trailed off, his hand reaching out with an almost mockingly gentle touch, his fingers brushing over Ryan’s soft, sagging chest, feeling the loose skin beneath his fingertips. "Now you’re stuck with this."

Ryan—no, the new Walter—flinched at the contact, his hands clenching uselessly in his lap, but he didn’t pull away. Ryan—the old Walter—chuckled darkly as he crossed his arms, tilting his head to the side as he took in the pitiful sight before him. The old man sat hunched and small, shoulders curled inward, looking up at him with a mixture of resentment, disbelief, and—most satisfying of all—helplessness.

"You know," Ryan mused, tapping his chin as if lost in thought, "I bet you’ve always been jealous of me."

Walter’s head snapped up, his aged face twisting in defiance. "What?" Ryan grinned, white teeth flashing against his youthful skin. "Come on, Grandpa. Don’t play dumb. You wanted this, didn’t you? My body, my strength, my youth." He spread his arms wide, stretching deliberately, rolling his shoulders to feel the strength coursing through his muscles. "Hell, you practically drooled every time I was at the gym. Always making comments—‘Damn, kid, you don’t know how lucky you are.’ Or, ‘If I had your body, I’d—’ Well, now you know. And let’s be honest, you weren’t just admiring it from a distance. You were longing for it, weren’t you? Watching me move, watching me live—all while being trapped in that pathetic old shell of yours."

He took a step closer, deliberately slow, letting his towering presence loom over Walter’s frail form. "I mean, look at me." He turned slightly, giving a mock flex, the defined muscles in his arms and chest shifting beneath his smooth, youthful skin. "Imagine how it must feel—to wake up every morning strong, invincible, without a single ache or pain. To have all the energy in the world, to be the one everyone listens to when you speak, to be the one people want to be around. That was me before, and now? Now, it’s still me. But you?" His smirk deepened as he tilted his head. "You're nothing more than an afterthought now. Just another old man waiting for the world to move on without him."

Walter’s face darkened, his lips twitching as if he wanted to speak, to lash out, but nothing came. The words—the truth—hung in the air between them, undeniable and crushing. Ryan leaned in just a fraction closer, his voice lowering to a whisper. "Hurts, doesn’t it? Knowing you’re beneath me now. Knowing I own the life that used to be yours. Knowing that, from now on, no one will ever look at you the way they used to look at me."

Walter’s face burned, his wrinkled hands twisting in the sheets beneath him. "That’s not—"

"Oh, don’t even try to deny it." Ryan cut him off, stepping closer, his voice thick with condescension. "You wished for this. I could see it in your eyes every time you groaned about your back, every time you huffed and puffed after going up the stairs. You wanted to be young again. To be me. And now, look at you." He let out a short, amused chuckle, shaking his head. "Karma’s funny, huh?"

Walter’s mouth opened, but no words came out. The heat in his face spread down his neck, shame curling around him like a vice. Ryan smirked, placing his hands on his hips, tilting his head as if genuinely curious. "Tell me, Grandpa, if you were in my shoes—if you swapped bodies with your grandson—wouldn’t you love it?" He let the question hang in the air, savoring the tension, his smirk widening as Walter stiffened, his breath catching in his throat.

"I mean, come on. Think about it. Really think about it. You know exactly what I’m talking about now, don’t you? Now that you’re the old man, you get it." Ryan took a slow step forward, his presence looming, his voice like velvet laced with poison. "Be honest with me, Grandpa. Wouldn’t you have enjoyed waking up one day in a body like this? No more aching knees, no more graying hair, no more struggling to even be noticed in a crowd. You spent years watching me, admiring me—hell, envying me. And now you know what it’s like to be on the other side of it. Doesn’t feel so great, does it?"

Walter looked away sharply, his jaw tight, his breathing heavy with frustration, but Ryan wasn’t finished. "Tell me, does it burn you up inside when you see me walking around, feeling amazing in this body? Do you hate it when I stretch, when I flex, when I live like I was meant for this?" He chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned down just enough to meet Walter’s weary eyes. "Or worse—do you crave it? Do you secretly wish you could trade back, knowing damn well you never will? Do you miss your body? Or are you finally realizing that it was never yours to begin with?"

Walter looked away, his jaw tight, his breathing heavy with frustration.

Ryan leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Feels different when you're the one stuck in the rocking chair, huh? When you're the one struggling just to get up in the morning?" He let out a breath, deliberately warm against Walter’s ear, before straightening back up.

Walter swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the sagging skin of his throat. His entire body tensed like a coiled spring, but there was nowhere to go, no escape from the torment.

Ryan sighed dramatically, stretching his arms above his head. "Look, I get it. You’re jealous. And that’s okay. It’s natural. Anyone in your position would be jealous of me." He flexed his arm, rolling his shoulders as if relishing the movement, his eyes flickering toward Walter expectantly. And just as he predicted, Walter’s gaze betrayed him—darting, just for a moment, toward the strong biceps, the smooth skin, the sheer power that had once belonged to him.

Ryan caught it instantly and let out a low, knowing chuckle. "Yeah, I saw that. You can’t help it, can you?" He stepped closer, tilting his head as he studied the old man before him. "I mean, look at me. I’m young. Strong. Alive." His voice softened, turning almost patronizing. "And you? Well… you’re just Walter now."

Walter squeezed his eyes shut, his nails digging into his palms. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to accept it.Ryan let the words settle before placing a firm, almost comforting hand on Walter’s frail shoulder. "But here’s the thing—you need to accept it. This is our reality now. There’s no going back. No second chances. This—" he gestured between them, "—is permanent. I’m Ryan. And you’re Walter. For good."

The Family Visit 

Eventually, the day of the family visit arrived, and Walter could feel his stomach twisting with unease. He sat stiffly in the hospital chair, his aged body aching from even the smallest movement. Across from him, Ryan stretched his youthful limbs with ease, barely able to contain his excitement. The roles they had been forced into were about to be cemented, and Walter dreaded every second of it.

When the door swung open, Daniel Holloway entered first—The old Ryan’s dad, and now Walter’s son. Though now Daniel had to see the old Ryan as his father, Walter. Behind him was Margaret, Daniel’s wife and Ryan’s mother. Then came Charles and Peter, Ryan’s younger brothers—though now, they were supposed to be his other grandsons. The sight of them was both familiar and alien, each face filled with relief and happiness.

"Dad!" Daniel greeted warmly, smiling at Walter with all the familiarity of a son addressing his father. Walter swallowed hard, his hands clenching against the hospital sheets. That greeting was meant for what used to be his grandfather—but not anymore. It was for him now.

"Grandpa!" Peter grinned, moving to Walter’s bedside. "It’s great to see you up. You gave us a real scare."

Walter flinched at the word. Grandpa. No, no, no. This wasn’t right. Daniel, his own father, was now looking at him as if HE were his father. It was suffocating.

Meanwhile, Ryan stood with an excited grin, spreading his arms wide. “Dad, Mom, Charles, Peter! Man, you have no idea how good it is to see you all.”

Margaret let out a relieved sigh and pulled Ryan into a tight embrace. “Oh, sweetheart, we were terrified,” she murmured. “I can’t believe you’re okay.”

Ryan leaned into her touch, relishing every second. “Of course I am, Mom. Strong as ever.” He flexed his arm playfully, making Charles and Peter chuckle.

Ryan basked in the attention, his new face lighting up as he embraced his mother—his former daughter-in-law —and patted his father—his former son—on the back. It was exhilarating. Thrilling. They truly believed he had always been their Ryan. They spoke to him as if he had always been their son, their brother. Every word of affection, every familial gesture, sent a pulse of euphoria through him. It was as if fate had always intended for him to be in this body.

Walter’s chest tightened as he watched his former body bask in the warmth of his family’s love. That was his mother embracing him. His brothers laughing with him. But now, they saw him as the grandfather—an old man, a relic of their past.

Walter also felt the crushing weight of despair. Even his own parents—who he was supposed to treat now as his own kids, looking at him with concern—saw him only as their dad, Walter. There was no recognition, no flicker of realization that something was horribly wrong.

Daniel turned back to Walter and placed a hand on his shoulder. “How are you feeling, Dad?”

His breathing grew unsteady. He had to fix this. "Dad, listen to me," Walter rasped, voice shaking. "I’m not—I’m not your dad. It’s me, Ryan! That’s my body! He—he stole it! You have to believe me!"

A tense silence filled the room. The smiles faded. Ryan, standing beside their mother, let out an exasperated sigh and turned toward the nurses. "I told you this might happen. His memory’s been slipping ever since the accident."

“Oh, Grandpa, not this again.” He turned to the others with an exaggerated sigh. “The doctors said he’s been having these memory lapses. He keeps insisting he’s me.”

One of the nurses nodded sympathetically. "It’s common with head trauma at his age. Sometimes, patients get confused about who they are."

Margaret’s expression softened with concern. “Oh, Walter…” She kneeled beside him, taking his wrinkled hands into her own. “The doctors did say there might be confusion after everything you went through. But don’t worry, we’re here for you.”

Walter’s face burned. "No Mom! I’m not confused! I swear to you, I’m Ryan! That’s my body! That’s my life!"

Walter’s pulse pounded in his ears. “No! I’m telling you the truth! I’m your son, Ryan! That is my body!” He pointed a trembling finger at Ryan, who merely shook his head with amusement.

His desperation escalated, his voice cracking as he tried to force them to see the truth. But all they saw was an old man having a breakdown. Daniel frowned, concern deepening in his eyes. "Dad, please, calm down. You’re scaring the boys."

Daniel sighed and squeezed Walter’s shoulder. “Dad, please. I know this must be overwhelming, but you’re Walter Holloway. You’ve always been my father.”

Ryan leaned against the bed, arms crossed, his smirk growing wider. “Come on, Grandpa, you don’t want to confuse the kids, do you?” He turned to Charles and Peter, feigning sympathy. “It’s hard watching Grandpa struggle like this, huh?”

Charles gave an awkward smile. “Yeah… but the doctors said he just needs time, right?”

Walter’s hands trembled as he looked from face to face. No one believed him. Not his dad, not his mom, not his brothers. The truth was slipping through his fingers like sand, and Ryan was enjoying every second of it.

Ryan stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Walter’s shoulder, leaning in slightly, his voice gentle but condescending. "Grandpa, you need to rest. You’re just confused. I know it’s hard, but you have to accept the truth."

Walter shook his head furiously. "You did this! You stole my life! You—"

Ryan clicked his tongue and turned to the others. "See what I mean? It’s like he’s stuck in some fantasy. I read about this—sometimes older folks cling to a delusion because reality is too much for them."

Walter gritted his teeth, shaking with humiliation. His own family. His own flesh and blood. They all thought he was a senile old man losing his grip on reality.

Ryan turned back, eyes gleaming with something cruel and victorious. "You’re not Ryan, Grandpa. I am. You’re Walter. Always have been. Always will be. And there’s no changing that."

Walter slumped back against the bed, defeated. His world had been stolen, and no one—not even his own family—would ever believe him.

Ryan took a step closer, lowering his voice just enough for only Walter to hear. “Face it, old man,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement. “This is your life now. You’re Grandpa. And I’m Ryan.” He patted Walter’s frail knee, just as he had been forced to do in their therapy sessions. “Better get used to it.”

Walter’s vision blurred with frustration and helplessness. Ryan had won. He had taken everything. And there was nothing Walter could do to stop it.

The Final Adjustment

Dr. Carter wasted no time intensifying their therapy sessions after the disastrous family visit. Walter’s outburst had only reinforced the doctor’s belief that he was suffering from a severe delusional episode, and Ryan made sure to milk every second of it.

At the start of their next session, Dr. Carter sat across from them with a patient but firm expression. “Walter, before we continue, I think there’s something you need to say to Ryan.”

Walter tensed, already dreading whatever was about to come next. “What do you mean?”

Dr. Carter tilted his head, as if speaking to a confused child. “You accused Ryan of something very serious in front of your family. You caused a scene, frightened your grandchildren, and distressed your son. Don’t you think you owe Ryan an apology?”

Walter’s stomach turned. His hands clenched against his thighs as he cast a hesitant glance at Ryan, who was lounging in his chair, arms crossed, a smug little smile playing on his lips.

Walter wanted to resist. He wanted to scream the truth again. But what good would it do? No one believed him. No one ever would. And the only way to stop the relentless humiliation was to play along.

“I…” Walter forced the words out, his throat dry. “I’m sorry, Ryan.”

Ryan’s grin widened. “Sorry for what, Grandpa?”

Walter swallowed back his pride. “For accusing you… of stealing my body.”

Ryan leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “And why do you think you did that, huh?”

Dr. Carter nodded encouragingly. “Yes, Walter. Let’s explore that. What made you feel like Ryan had taken something from you?”

Walter’s jaw clenched. His pulse pounded in his temples. Ryan’s eyes were gleaming, waiting for him to break.

“I guess…” Walter exhaled shakily. “I was jealous.”

Ryan clicked his tongue. “Jealous?”

Walter stared at the floor. “Yes.”

“Jealous of what?” Ryan pressed.

Walter’s shoulders sagged. “Of… your body.”

Ryan let out a small, satisfied laugh. “Oh yeah?”

Walter shut his eyes tightly, willing himself to disappear. “Yeah.”

Ryan leaned back, tapping his fingers against his knee. “And what else? You jealous of my muscles? My youth? The fact that I get to live as Ryan while you’re just old man Walter?”

Walter felt the weight of every word pressing down on him. He forced himself to nod. “Yes.”

“Say it,” Ryan ordered. “Tell me what exactly you’re jealous of.”

Walter’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Your strength. Your body. Your youth.”

Ryan wasn’t done yet. He leaned in closer, his voice smooth, almost gentle, but dripping with cruel amusement. “Come on, old man. You jealous of the way I wake up every morning, full of energy, no aching joints, no stiff back? The way I can run without gasping for breath, the way I can eat anything I want without worrying about cholesterol or heartburn?” He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Bet you miss that, huh?”

Walter clenched his fists in his lap, his nails digging into his palms. His breathing was shallow, his chest tight.

Ryan tilted his head, studying him like a predator toying with wounded prey. “Or maybe you’re jealous of how people see me. No one looks at me with pity. No one treats me like some fragile old man who’s past his prime. No one assumes I need help just getting out of a chair.” His smirk widened. “That must suck, huh? Going from being strong, being respected, to being… this.”

Walter bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to keep quiet, but the words pressed against his lips like poison waiting to spill.

Ryan wasn’t finished. “How about the way people talk to me? The way they listen when I speak, when I walk into a room, when I shake someone’s hand?” He flexed his fingers, letting the movement draw Walter’s gaze. “Bet you miss that, huh? Bet you hate looking in the mirror and seeing Walter Holloway staring back at you. The sagging skin, the graying hair, the belly that won’t go away no matter what you do.” He let out a fake sympathetic sigh. “Damn, that’s gotta sting.”

Walter swallowed thickly, his throat raw. He wanted to shut his eyes, to disappear, but it wouldn’t stop. It never stopped.

And then, for the first time, he spoke without being prompted.

“I’m jealous,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ryan’s smirk deepened. “What’s that, Grandpa?”

Walter’s fingers twitched, his nails pressing deeper into his palms. He exhaled shakily, his voice stronger this time. “I’m jealous… of how strong you are. How you can move so easily, how you can run and jump without thinking about it. I’m jealous of your energy, how you wake up feeling rested, how your body isn’t slowing you down.” The words spilled from his lips like a confession, each one tightening the grip around his chest.

Ryan folded his arms, nodding smugly. “Go on.”

Walter shut his eyes for a moment, as if saying it out loud might somehow make it worse, but the pressure was unbearable. He had to let it out. “I’m jealous of how people look at you. The respect you get. The admiration. I’m jealous that when you talk, people listen. I’m jealous that you don’t get treated like you’re fragile, like you’re in the way.” He inhaled shakily, his voice dropping to a hoarse murmur. “I’m jealous that you have your whole life ahead of you while mine is…” He trailed off, unable to finish.

Dr. Carter, who had been watching intently, leaned forward slightly, his expression warm with approval. “This is good, Walter. Acknowledging these emotions is important for your progress. But there’s something else you need to say.”

Walter’s stomach twisted. “What?”

Dr. Carter’s voice was steady, coaxing. “Despite your jealousy, despite everything you feel… you wouldn’t have it any other way, would you? You would rather be Walter Holloway. That’s who you are, and that’s who you want to be.”

Walter felt a lump lodge itself in his throat. His skin felt hot, prickling with shame, with exhaustion.

Ryan was watching him expectantly, his smirk lingering, waiting for him to break completely.

Walter’s jaw tightened. The weight pressing down on him was suffocating. He wanted it to stop. He wanted all of this to stop.

So he did the only thing he could.

He nodded. “Yes.”

Dr. Carter’s smile widened. “Say it, Walter.”

Walter’s lips parted, the words slow, shaky, forced. “I… I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Ryan’s smirk deepened.

Dr. Carter beamed. “Good. That’s very good.”

Walter stared at the floor, feeling the last of his resistance crumble. It was done. He had said what they wanted to hear.

Dr. Carter smiled approvingly at Walter’s supposed ‘progress.’ “Good, Walter. Acknowledging these feelings is an important step. Now, let’s reinforce this understanding with sensory exercises.”

Walter’s stomach churned. He knew what was coming. He had endured these exercises before, each one designed to strip him of whatever dignity he had left. A quick glance at Ryan confirmed his fears—his grandson, now towering over him in the body that once belonged to him, was already smirking, barely containing his amusement.

“Stand up,” Dr. Carter instructed, his voice leaving no room for hesitation. Walter pushed himself up slowly, his joints stiff, his movements sluggish, while Ryan rose effortlessly, his youthful body full of strength and energy. Walter barely had time to steady himself before Ryan took a deliberate step forward, his presence overwhelming.

“Face each other,” Dr. Carter continued.

Ryan wasted no time closing the gap between them, his muscular chest nearly brushing against Walter’s frail one. Walter could feel the heat radiating from his former body, his skin tingling with the stark contrast between them.

“Walter, touch Ryan’s face,” Dr. Carter directed. “Feel the difference.”

Walter’s fingers trembled as he reached up, brushing against Ryan’s jawline. The skin was firm, the bone structure sharp and defined—nothing like the sagging, soft flesh that now hung from his own face.

Dr. Carter’s voice remained steady. “And what do you feel?”

Walter swallowed hard. “Strength,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ryan chuckled. “Damn right,” he said, flexing his jaw for emphasis. “Feels solid, doesn’t it? Not like that loose mess you’ve got now.”

Walter’s face burned, but Dr. Carter wasn’t finished. “Now, move to his shoulders.”

Walter obeyed, his hands hesitantly trailing down to Ryan’s broad shoulders. They were powerful, firm with well-developed muscle. His grip tightened slightly as he traced the structure, feeling the undeniable strength beneath his fingertips.

“Compare it to your own,” Dr. Carter ordered.

Walter pulled back slowly and reached for his own shoulders, wincing at the stark contrast. His hands met soft, sagging skin, the once-solid mass now reduced to frailty. Before he could react, Ryan’s hands followed suit, gripping Walter’s shoulders with an exaggerated squeeze.

“Man, this is like grabbing a sack of dough,” Ryan quipped, kneading Walter’s flesh mockingly. “No muscle left, huh? Just… soft.”

Dr. Carter ignored the taunt. “Now, Walter, his arms.”

Walter’s hands hesitantly wrapped around Ryan’s biceps. They were thick, hard, brimming with power. Ryan flexed with a smirk, his muscle bulging beneath Walter’s touch.

“Give it a squeeze,” Ryan encouraged. “Go on, Grandpa. Feel what real strength is like.”

Walter did as instructed, though the action only deepened his humiliation. The sheer power in Ryan’s arms was undeniable. Then, before Walter could react, Ryan reached for his arms, gripping them in return.

“Wow,” Ryan mused, squeezing the loose skin. “There’s just… nothing here. No definition, no strength. Just… flab.” He gave Walter’s arm a light shake, watching as the skin wobbled pathetically. “Man, that’s depressing.”

Walter clenched his teeth, his body stiff with shame, but the session was far from over. Dr. Carter’s voice cut through the tension. “His chest, Walter.”

Walter’s hands hesitated before settling on Ryan’s chest. It was firm, solid, each muscle defined and sculpted. He swallowed hard, already dreading the next instruction.

“Now your own.”

Walter pulled his hands away and pressed them against his own chest. His fingers sank into soft flesh, the skin loose and yielding beneath his touch. Ryan wasted no time mirroring the action, pressing a hand against Walter’s chest before bursting into laughter.

“Wow. It’s like feeling an old couch cushion,” Ryan taunted, giving a light squeeze. “No muscle. No tone. Just sagging.”

Walter’s humiliation deepened, but Dr. Carter continued. “His abdomen, Walter.”

Walter’s hands trailed down Ryan’s torso, brushing against the ridges of his six-pack, the muscles firm and unyielding. The contrast was unbearable.

“Now your own.”

Walter forced himself to touch his own stomach, feeling the soft, excess flesh pooling beneath his fingertips. Ryan, ever the tormentor, pressed a firm hand against Walter’s belly and gave it a condescending jiggle.

“Damn,” Ryan laughed. “What happened, old man? You used to have abs—now you’ve got this?” He patted Walter’s stomach mockingly. “Guess you don’t need to worry about sit-ups anymore, huh?”

Walter squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the shame, but there was no escape.

Dr. Carter continued, “his legs.”

Walter’s hands slid down to Ryan’s thighs, feeling the sheer power in the muscle. His legs were strong, lean, built for movement. Ryan shifted slightly under Walter’s touch, flexing his quadriceps just to emphasize the contrast.

“And your own,” Dr. Carter prompted.

Walter obeyed, his hands falling to his own thighs. They were thin, weak, lacking the firmness they once had. Ryan reached down, gripping Walter’s thigh in return, his fingers pressing into the soft, aging flesh.

“These legs are useless,” Ryan scoffed, shaking his head. “No wonder you walk like you’re about to fall over.”

Walter’s head hung low. The session had stripped him down piece by piece, leaving him raw, exposed, and utterly powerless. Ryan, meanwhile, stood tall, his smirk one of pure, unfiltered satisfaction.

Dr. Carter nodded, seemingly satisfied with the exercise so far. “Now, we’re going to take this a step further. I want both of you to smell each other. Start with the armpits.”

Walter’s eyes widened in horror. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Dr. Carter said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Smell is a powerful sense—it can help ground you in reality. Ryan, go first.”

Ryan smirked, raising his arm and flexing slightly to expose his armpit. “Go ahead, Grandpa. Take a whiff.”

Walter hesitated, his stomach churning at the thought. But under Dr. Carter’s watchful gaze, he leaned in, his nose brushing against Ryan’s armpit. The scent hit him immediately—musky, masculine, and undeniably Ryan. It was intoxicating, and Walter couldn’t help but feel a pang of arousal.

“Who’s musk does that belong to, Walter?” Dr. Carter asked.

“Ryan’s,” Walter admitted, his face burning with shame.

“Good. Now, Ryan, smell Walter.”

Ryan grinned, raising Walter’s arm and pressing his nose against the older man’s armpit. He took a deep breath, the scent filling his nostrils. It was musty, the smell of age and neglect, and Ryan wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“Man, that’s just… gross,” Ryan said, pulling away with a grimace. “Smells like old sweat and decay.”

Dr. Carter’s voice cut through the heavy silence, calm and clinical as ever. “Now, Walter, Ryan, I want you to take this exercise one step further than before. I want you to explore the differences between your bodies in their most… intimate form.”

Walter’s breath hitched, his stomach twisting into knots. “What?” he choked out, his voice barely audible. He could feel Ryan’s gaze burning into him, smug and expectant.

“You heard the doctor, Grandpa,” Ryan said, his tone dripping with amusement. “Time to get up close and personal.”

Dr. Carter nodded, her expression unchanged. “You will touch each other’s genitals. This is an essential part of understanding the physical disparities between you and accepting them.”

Walter’s heart raced, his breath catching in his throat. He knew what was coming, and the dread coiled tightly in his gut. He glanced up at Ryan, who was already smirking, his youthful arrogance shining through. Ryan’s eyes gleamed with anticipation, and Walter could see the faint bulge in his pants—a cruel reminder of the vitality that now belonged to his grandson.

“Stand closer,” Dr. Carter instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. Walter took a shaky step forward, his frail body trembling as Ryan closed the gap between them with ease. The warmth of Ryan’s body radiated against Walter’s, the contrast between their physical states almost unbearable.

“Walter,” Dr. Carter began, “reach out and touch Ryan’s waistband. Feel the difference in your bodies’ structure.”

“Go on, Grandpa,” Ryan taunted, his voice laced with mockery. “Touch it. Feel what a real man has.”

Walter’s hands trembled as he hesitantly reached for Ryan’s hips. His fingers brushed against the fabric of his grandson’s pants, feeling the firmness of the muscles beneath. Ryan shifted slightly, intentionally pressing his hips forward, and Walter’s fingers accidentally grazed the bulge that was unmistakably there. Walter jerked his hand back as if burned, his face flushing with humiliation.

“What’s the matter, Grandpa?” Ryan teased, his voice dripping with mockery. “Scared of a little contact? Or maybe you’re just jealous?” He leaned in closer, his breath warm against Walter’s ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll make this easy for you.”

Before Walter could react, Ryan grabbed his hand and placed it firmly on his own crotch. Walter’s fingers instinctively curled around the hard, throbbing length beneath the fabric. He tried to pull away, but Ryan held him in place, his grip strong and unrelenting. “Feel that?” Ryan whispered, his voice low and taunting. “That’s what strength feels like. That’s what youth feels like. Bet you haven’t felt anything like that in years, huh?”

Walter’s face burned, his humiliation intensifying with every passing second. He could feel the heat of Ryan’s arousal through the fabric, the undeniable proof of his grandson’s virility. It was a cruel reminder of everything he had lost—the firmness, the energy, the life that had once been his.

“That’s it,” Ryan encouraged, his voice low and taunting. “Feel how big it is.”

Walter’s fingers trembled as he wrapped them around Ryan’s shaft, the girth filling his hand in a way that made his own seem laughable in comparison. He could feel the heat radiating from it, the pulse of life that seemed to throb with every beat of Ryan’s heart.

Dr. Carter’s voice cut through the tension, steady and unyielding. “Now, Walter, it’s your turn. Let Ryan touch you.”

Walter’s stomach churned, his mind screaming in protest. But he knew there was no escape. Walter’s breath hitched again as Ryan’s hand closed around him, the difference between them painfully obvious. Ryan’s grip was firm, confident, his fingers easily wrapping around Walter’s small, soft member.

“Wow,” Ryan said, his tone dripping with mockery. “It’s like… nothing. Just a little nub.” He gave a light squeeze, watching as Walter’s face flushed deeper with shame. “Guess you really have lost everything, huh?”

Walter’s face burned with shame, his body stiff under Ryan’s touch. He could feel the warmth of his grandson’s hand, the contrast between their bodies even more pronounced now. Ryan gave a light squeeze, his fingers exploring with a mocking curiosity.

“Nothing to work with here,” Ryan continued, his voice laced with cruel satisfaction. “Just… flaccid and lifeless. Like the rest of you.”

Ryan’s hand began to move, his fingers sliding up and down Walter’s cock with a deliberate, mocking slowness. “Feels like I’m touching a little worm,” he said, his voice low and taunting. “No muscle, no hardness. Just… limp.”

Walter’s breath came in shallow gasps, his humiliation and jealousy intertwining in a way that made his head spin. He tightened his grip on Ryan’s cock, his fingers sliding up and down the thick, hard shaft. He could feel the power in it, the way it seemed to pulse with life, mocking his own inadequacy.

“That’s right,” Ryan said, his voice filled with smug satisfaction. “Feel it. Feel how much better I am than you.”

Walter’s hand moved faster, his grip tightening as he tried to block out the taunts. But no matter how much he tried to focus on the task at hand, he couldn’t escape the stark contrast between them. Ryan’s cock was everything his wasn’t—big, strong, alive.

Ryan’s own hand moved with a deliberate slowness, his fingers sliding up and down Walter’s small, soft cock with a mocking precision. “It’s almost cute,” he said, his voice filled with amusement. “How pathetic it is.”

Ryan’s breathing grew heavier, his smirk widening as he watched Walter struggle. “That’s it, Grandpa,” he said, his voice low and taunting. “Keep going. Let’s see who finishes first.”

But then, without warning, Ryan’s body tensed, his smirk widening into a grin of pure triumph. “Here it comes,” he said, his voice low and filled with a mix of arrogance and excitement.

Walter’s eyes flew open just in time to see Ryan’s cock pulse, a thick stream of cum shooting out and hitting him square in the face. The warmth of it was almost suffocating, the sheer volume of it a stark reminder of Ryan’s virility. Walter froze, his hand still gripping Ryan’s cock as the younger man’s cum continued to spurt out, coating his face and dripping down onto his chest.

Walter’s own cock twitched in Ryan’s hand, a small, pitiful spurt of cum barely managing to escape. Ryan glanced down, his smirk widening as he took in the stark contrast between them. “That’s it?” he taunted, his voice filled with amusement. “That’s all you’ve got? Man, you really are pathetic.”

Walter’s face burned with humiliation, his body trembling as he tried to process the sheer difference between them. Ryan’s cum was still warm on his face, a bitter reminder of his own inadequacy. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, could barely even think as the weight of Ryan’s dominance pressed down on him.

Dr. Carter nodded in approval. “Very good. Now, let’s proceed with hypnosis while you’re still euphoric. I want you both to sit down and listen to my voice.” They weren’t even allowed to clean themselves. 

Walter obeyed, already feeling lightheaded from the session. He barely reacted as Dr. Carter began speaking in a low, rhythmic voice, guiding him deeper into relaxation.

Dr. Carter’s voice deepened, slow and steady, like a distant pulse guiding them into the depths of their minds. “Close your eyes,” he instructed. “Let go of everything else. Picture yourselves stepping into a vast space, one that belongs to both of you.”

Walter felt himself sinking, drifting into the doctor’s words, his senses blurring as the weight of the session pressed against him.

Dr. Carter’s voice became a thread weaving through his mind. “You are in a grand hall,” he continued. “A palace of mirrors, stretching endlessly in all directions. There is no ceiling, no walls—only reflections, endless and pure.”

The vision took shape.

Walter found himself standing in an enormous, empty chamber. The floor was smooth and black, almost liquid in appearance, reflecting light that had no source. Tall, ornate mirrors lined the space in every direction, their silvered surfaces pristine, infinite, inescapable.

He wasn’t alone.

Ryan stood beside him, just as Dr. Carter had described, both of them facing the mirrors that surrounded them.

Dr. Carter’s voice was gentle but insistent. “Tell me, Walter… what do you see?”

Walter turned toward the nearest mirror, his breath catching in his throat.

Staring back at him wasn’t his wrinkled, aging face.

It was Ryan.

His reflection was young. Strong. The way he had once been.

A jolt of longing struck him like a knife between the ribs.

Ryan exhaled sharply beside him, amusement laced in his voice. “Hah. Would you look at that.”

Dr. Carter’s voice remained steady. “And if you look down at yourself, Walter… what do you see?”

Walter hesitated.

Slowly, he lowered his gaze.

His heart lurched.

He wasn’t looking at withered hands, spotted with age. His body—his mental body—wasn’t frail or weak.

It was Ryan’s.

The hands were young, strong, his shoulders broad, his posture straight. His chest solid, his legs full of power.

For a single, intoxicating moment, hope flared within him. Maybe this was the proof he needed. Maybe, if even his mind rejected this body, there was still a chance—

Dr. Carter turned his attention to Ryan. “And you, Ryan? What do you see?”

Ryan smirked. “Same thing. My reflection looks like Walter. And when I look down?” He flexed his fingers experimentally. “Old. Obese. Weak.”

Walter’s stomach twisted.

Dr. Carter nodded. “Good. That is your self-perception. The mind’s final grasp on the confusion. But that confusion will fade. The mind cannot fight the truth.”

The words slithered into Walter’s thoughts, sinking deeper.

“The reflections are truth,” Dr. Carter murmured. “The mind knows which body it belongs to.”

Walter turned his gaze back to the mirror.

His breath caught.

The image was… shifting.

The firm jawline softened. Wrinkles bled into the smooth skin. His chest lost its shape, sagging under the weight of years. His shoulders hunched, his legs losing definition. The reflection aged before his eyes.

His pulse pounded.

“No,” he whispered.

But the mirrors did not lie.

Across from him, Ryan’s reflection changed, too—but in the opposite way. The tired, aging body in his mirror straightened. Muscles formed beneath once-loose skin. His shoulders broadened. His stance grew confident, filled with youth.

Ryan chuckled softly, watching the change unfold.

Dr. Carter’s voice remained unwavering. “The reflections have settled. But now, the mind must align.”

Walter looked down, desperate—

His body still looked young. His hands were still Ryan’s hands. His chest still solid, his legs still strong.

The reflection was wrong.

It had to be wrong.

Ryan hummed thoughtfully, inspecting himself in the mirror. “Yeah… this is looking a lot better, huh?” He turned his head slightly, watching the light catch his sharp jawline. “Starting to feel natural.”

Walter’s breath grew shallow. “No…”

Dr. Carter’s tone became more commanding. “The mind must not fight the truth.”

The walls of mirrors shimmered.

A pull deep within Walter’s chest made his skin crawl. A sinking sensation washed over him, like he was being submerged, like something was being taken—

And then—

His hands.

His chest.

His legs.

They weren’t young anymore.

His own body—his mental body—had changed. The frail arms, the wrinkled skin, the weakened muscles—

It was all his again.

Walter gasped sharply, stumbling back.

“No.” His voice was hoarse. “No, no, no—”

Ryan’s laughter was quiet, smug.

Walter turned, wide-eyed, to see Ryan inspecting his own reflection. And this time, when Ryan looked down at himself—

He saw youth. Strength. Power.

And when he smirked, it wasn’t an illusion. It was real.

His body.

His mind.

It was over.

“You are Walter Holloway,” Dr. Carter’s voice droned. “You have always been Walter Holloway. You are an aging man, a father, a grandfather. And Ryan is your grandson. That is the truth. That is reality.”

Walter’s head swam. His body felt heavy. The words seeped into his mind, wrapping around his thoughts like chains.

Dr. Carter’s voice softened. “Tell me, Walter. Who are you?”

Walter’s heart thundered in his chest. He wanted to scream. To resist.

But as he looked back at the reflection—at the undeniable image staring back at him—his throat closed.

“I…”

Ryan exhaled, dragging out the moment, savoring it.

Dr. Carter’s voice was gentle but firm. “Say it.”

Walter swallowed hard, every ounce of fight draining from his limbs.

His lips trembled.

His voice barely above a whisper.

“I am Walter Holloway.”

Dr. Carter nodded approvingly. “And who is Ryan?”

Walter clenched his fists, but his reflection only showed old, frail hands curling in on themselves.

He looked at Ryan.

Ryan—young, smirking, victorious.

Walter’s head lowered in submission.

“My grandson.”

Ryan let out a slow breath, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “That’s right.”

Dr. Carter smiled. “Very good. And tell me, Walter—despite everything, despite the jealousy, despite the past… would you have it any other way?”

Walter hesitated.

The mirrors had spoken.

The body.

The mind.

The truth.

He exhaled shakily.

“…No.”

Dr. Carter’s voice was a final, steady command. “Then accept it.”

Walter’s shoulders sagged.

His body.

His reflection.

His fate.

“…I accept it. I wouldn't have it any other way ”

Ryan grinned.

And Walter Holloway knew, with bone-deep certainty, that there was no going back.

The Conclusion

After weeks of relentless therapy, psychological conditioning, and medical evaluations, the doctors finally deemed Ryan and Walter fully adjusted to their "true" identities. There were no more arguments, no more desperate pleas, no more resistance—at least, not outwardly. Walter had long since realized that fighting was useless. He had been backed into a corner, stripped of everything, and molded into what they wanted him to be. The final signatures were scrawled onto discharge papers, the last stamp of approval sealing their fates. With that, the hospital doors were thrown open, allowing them to step back into the world—not as themselves, but as the people the system had forced them to become.

As they prepared to leave, the contrast between them was stark. Walter—now in Ryan’s youthful, athletic body—was practically glowing with excitement, while Ryan—trapped in Walter’s aging, weakened frame—moved stiffly, weighed down by both the ill-fitting clothes and the unbearable reality of his situation.

Dressing that morning had been its own form of torture for Walter. The thick fabric of the slacks chafed against his legs, and the button-up shirt felt foreign, like a costume draped over someone he no longer recognized. The cardigan smelled faintly of antiseptic and stale detergent, a scent that clung to him like an accusation. The orthopedic shoes were stiff and heavy, dragging his steps down even further. Each layer of clothing was a reminder of what had been taken from him.

Ryan, on the other hand, had never felt better. He relished the way Ryan’s well-fitted tank top hugged his torso, how the jeans sat comfortably on his hips like they had always belonged to him. But the best part—the part that made it all feel real—was the scent. With a satisfied smirk, he rolled on Walter’s deodorant, letting the crisp, masculine smell envelop him. Then, with slow deliberation, he reached for Walter’s cologne, giving himself a generous spritz before inhaling deeply.

“Ahh,” Ryan sighed dramatically, stretching his arms in satisfaction. “Now this smells like me.”

When it was finally time to leave, Ryan snatched the car keys and twirled them between his fingers, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’ll drive,” he said, shooting Walter a knowing glance. “Considering the last time you were behind the wheel, we both ended up in the hospital, I’d say it’s for the best.” The words were lighthearted, but the smugness in his tone made Walter’s jaw tighten.

Walter said nothing. What could he say? He simply followed Ryan out of the hospital, his slow, weary steps a bitter contrast to Ryan’s confident, youthful stride. Ryan moved like he owned the world—because, in a way, he did. Walter, burdened by age, weight, and the cruel truth of his new reality, shuffled behind him, feeling smaller with every step.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, Ryan adjusted the mirrors, the seat, the steering wheel—everything to fit his new, larger frame.

Walter sank into the passenger seat, feeling uncomfortably out of place in a car that had once been his. The interior, the familiar scent, the worn leather—all reminders of a life that no longer belonged to him.

The sun bore down through the windshield, and Ryan exhaled dramatically. “Damn, it’s hot.” With a smirk, he grabbed his tank top and pulled it off in one fluid motion, tossing it onto the dashboard before buckling his seatbelt. His bare chest gleamed with sweat, the ridges of his abs shifting as he settled in. Walter forced his gaze forward, his gut twisting at the sight of his former body, now so casually on display.

Ryan drummed his fingers on the wheel, then shot Walter another grin. “Ready to go, Gramps?”

Walter swallowed hard, his throat dry. He had no choice but to nod. The drive home felt longer than ever.

When they arrived home, Ryan stepped through the door with effortless ease, his posture relaxed, his smile easy—exactly how the old Ryan used to be. He greeted his family with a familiar charm, embracing them with warmth and speaking with the natural confidence of a young man who had his entire life ahead of him. They welcomed him with open arms, laughing at his jokes, asking about his recovery, completely unaware of the horrifying truth behind his stolen identity. 

Meanwhile, Walter stood awkwardly at the threshold, his movements slower, his presence smaller. The moment their eyes landed on him, everything changed. His family’s smiles faltered just slightly, their expressions shifting into something softer—gentle, but laced with a quiet pity. They spoke to him in lowered tones, carefully enunciating their words as if he might not understand. A hesitant pat on the shoulder, a brief exchange of pleasantries—it was clear they saw him as an old man who needed patience, not as the person he truly was. Every glance that lingered too long, every concerned look exchanged behind his back only deepened the pit in his stomach. He had come home, and yet, for the first time in his life, he had never felt more out of place.

The transition was swift and brutal. The old Walter stepped seamlessly into Ryan’s life, assuming every aspect of his former grandson’s existence as if he had always belonged there. He moved into Ryan’s bedroom, effortlessly adjusting to the space—the unmade bed, the posters on the walls, the faint scent of cologne still lingering in the air. It took him no time at all to settle into the familiar routine: early morning workouts at the gym, cracking jokes with Ryan’s friends, slipping into easy, flirtatious conversations with women who had once been off-limits. He thrived in this body, this life, indulging in every sensation and pleasure that came with youth.

Meanwhile, Walter was forced into a role he had never imagined for himself—that of an aging, powerless retiree. His world shrank overnight, confined to the quiet, unremarkable existence of an old man whose presence barely registered to those around him. He was no longer included in conversations the way he once had been; his opinions carried less weight, his presence went unnoticed. His body, once strong and agile, now ached with every movement, reminding him constantly of what he had lost.

But the most painful losses weren’t physical. They were the pieces of his identity that were stripped away, one by one, until there was nothing left of the man he had once been. His phone—his direct connection to the world he knew—was surrendered, replaced with a simple device meant for seniors, its contents erased. His bank accounts, his credit cards, the very name attached to them. His clothes were replaced with drab, practical attire suited for an elderly man, his favorite belongings distributed without a second thought. With every item he relinquished, the reality of his new existence settled in deeper, suffocating him.

The nights were the worst. Lying alone in his unfamiliar bed, Walter would hear the sounds coming from his old bedroom—the laughter, the music, the muffled voices. And then, sometimes, the unmistakable sounds of passion, of intimacy, of a body that had once been his, now used for pleasures he could no longer experience. A sharp, ugly jealousy burned within him, twisting his stomach into knots, but he swallowed it down. This was reality. This was how things were meant to be. Walter was Ryan now, and he, the old Ryan, was nothing more than an old man. And so, he forced himself to close his eyes, to let go of the bitterness, to accept the life that had been decided for him.

Now, back in the privacy of Ryan’s—his—room, Ryan stood shirtless in front of the full-length mirror, admiring the body that was now his. The morning sunlight streamed through the window, casting a golden glow over his skin. He ran his hands over his chest, down his stomach, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his fingers. He was perfect. Every inch of him.

He turned to the side, flexing his biceps, watching as the muscle tensed and bulged. He reached down, cupping the firmness of his ass, squeezing it experimentally. A shiver of pleasure ran through him. This body… it was electric. Every touch felt amplified, every sensation more intense than he remembered.

His hands drifted lower, tracing the defined lines of his abdomen, until his fingers dipped below the waistband of his sweatpants. He let out a low groan as he took himself in hand, feeling the heat and hardness of his new body. It had been years—decades, really—since he’d felt like this. Young. Hungry. Alive.

He began to stroke himself slowly, his eyes locked on his reflection. His breath quickened as he watched his face flush, his lips part in pleasure. He couldn’t look away. The sight of himself—his youthful self—was intoxicating. Every movement, every twitch of muscle, every bead of sweat rolling down his skin was a reminder of what he’d gained.

His hand moved faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps now. He let his free hand roam over his chest, tweaking a nipple, feeling the sharp jolt of pleasure that shot through him. He was close—so close. His head fell back, a low moan escaping his lips as he reached the edge.

And then he was there, his body shuddering with release, his hand still moving as he spilled onto his stomach. He stood there for a moment, panting, his heart racing, his mind buzzing with satisfaction.

When he finally opened his eyes and opened his selfie camera, he couldn’t help but grin. This was his body now. His new life. And he was going to enjoy every damn second of it.

Ryan flourished in his stolen youth, embracing every ounce of vitality and strength that came with it. At home, he rarely bothered with a shirt, his toned physique constantly on display as he stretched, flexed, and moved with the effortless confidence of a man in his prime. Every movement seemed designed to remind Walter of what he had lost, of the body that once belonged to him but now obeyed another. Ryan's reflection had become a source of pride, and he ensured that his new grandfather—his former self—saw exactly what he had become.

He took to Ryan’s life as if it had always been his own, stepping seamlessly into friendships, relationships, and professional pursuits. His charm made the transition effortless. No one questioned the shift in demeanor, the newfound confidence and ease with which he navigated the world. Even in love, he thrived. The woman the old Ryan had once longed for but could never quite win over was now his. He had everything the old Ryan had struggled for, and he had taken it without consequence. Every success, every moment of pleasure, was a reminder that this was his life now, and no one—not even the man who had once lived it—could change that.

Meanwhile, Walter withered under the weight of his new reality. He was no longer seen as the strong, capable man he had once been. Now, he was an afterthought—an aging, pitiful figure trapped in a body that betrayed him at every turn. His protests were dismissed as the confused ramblings of a senile old man, his desperation met with sympathetic nods and condescending reassurances. He was humored, not heard. The fight drained out of him with each passing day, his words fading into silence as he realized the futility of it all. He was powerless, forced to watch his old body, his old life, thrive without him.

Eventually, Walter stopped fighting. There was no point anymore. The world had already moved on, and he had been left behind. He no longer corrected people when they called him Walter. He no longer tried to reclaim what had been stolen. He simply accepted it. And with that acceptance, the last remnants of his old self faded away. For all intents and purposes, he was Walter Holloway.

https://lh7-rt.googleusercontent.com/docsz/AD_4nXetnQg1GJNopG4fBsKFeJQmKSQHdGOH5rVqxdbiVZTEUrk3NmzvlBE_qid0DNp_F797AUaoptTbMZ__sivOcgt9dhmeyulsY1gA6HJo_AYU3L7BUaAg1VlFT0HsP-k1GowhELtwLA?key=kgQC7utVG18iSUuBehAZym-C

A full year passed since the accident, since their minds had been wrenched from their rightful places and forced into new vessels. The family gathered once again, a mirror image of the last time—except everything had changed. Ryan played the role of grandson with ease, laughing, joking, exuding the boundless energy of youth. Walter sat in the background, the quiet, aging patriarch. Something inside him had shifted as well. The resistance had vanished, replaced by something resembling contentment—or at least resignation.

For a fleeting moment, a thought crept into his mind. It had been a year since we were out of our minds. A year since fate—or something else—had rewritten their lives. But he pushed the thought away, willing himself to believe what he needed to believe. He was, is, and always would be Walter Holloway. And the man across the room, the one who had once been his grandfather, was, is, and always would be Ryan.

The End.

[nman-blog]

Lust

It’s so hard living in a gayborhood in a big city. All the “important” and “popular” influencer gays were everywhere. Which was great for me to yearn for from afar but terrible for my self perception.

They were all perfectly plumped and muscle bound after countless hours in the gym and doctors office. I lusted after so many of them but they’d never look at me. I’m too normal for these guys.

One of my favorites was Alex.

I mean look at him. You would too. He was the epitome of a short king but damn was he built in the perfect way. He’s the kind of person that makes you question how you’re not living in the same world at the same time. And you can tell he knows he’s desirable. He’s become popular on OnlyFans capitalizing on his sculpted body.

One day I got caught slipping and he began teasing me from afar. First it was a wink or moving close to me as I struggled on my sets. Then it was doing squats showing off the goods. Eventually I wanted to cave and just approach him to tell him how hot I thought he was but I turned around and he was gone. I figured I missed my window and went to the lockers to get my stuff.

There he was. Taking selfies leaving nothing to the imagination. I felt feral and as I approached him he hushed me.

“I know what you want” he calmly replied to my eagerness.

“But I’m the only one that gets to fuck me. I want you to be a good boy and takeover my body. I’ve been eyeing this hunk that would be perfect for a collab. I think he’s straight but I can fix that.”

The plan trauma dumped onto me. I stood there confused and shocked by what he just divulged onto me.

“Ugh look the condensation is I can pull other people’s spirits into my body but I gotta go somewhere so I seek another vessel for myself while you’re in here. Two spirits in one body is way too cramped.”

The pieces were finally clicking and before I could ask anything, he hushed me again.

“Do you want to have sex, yes or no? It’s that simple, so be a good boy and answer.”

I nodded like a puppy big and doe eyed. Before I knew it I was being ripped from where I stood and then looked at my former light complected twink self seemingly asleep on the ground. I looked down at my new caramel colored hands, veins bulging out of my forearms.

I used my new calloused palms to squeeze my inflated and sweaty glistened chest. Lightly squeezing one pec at a time before tightly squeezing both at once. This is crazy!

I heard my phone buzzing in my bag amid my exploration. It was Alex from a random number telling me to join him at a nearby address. He works quick.

“Get here now if you wanna get down and be fast or I’ll punish you like a bad boy.”

My new junk was stirring in my tiny black underwear. I quickly rinsed off and changed clothes before hauling ass to the address. As I approached the condo, I nearly knocked when I got another text.

“The doors open. Come in and get down to your underwear.” It read.

I obliged and got down to my new crisp and clean white underwear. As I looked up I saw it l him. Alex was 5’6” and well off in his normal body but the hunk he now inhabited was 6’4, white, and stacked with muscle. While I wondered if that body was potentially doing steroids his creamy palm approached my comparatively tiny waist and yanked me closer.

I took a picture of us together in a nearby mirror. He then picked up my free hand and placed it down his shorts.

That has to be a tree trunk.

“How am I supposed to take all that?!” I whispered under my breath

“Because I’m telling you to.”

I blushed and nodded eagerly again

[nman-blog]

Swap Convention

(AI-Generated - Story concept inspired by real life events. I went to this tech convention and saw this incredible handsome daddy that I couldn't get my eyes off, walking around the same route as I did for at least 30 minutes. Made up this entire story right there standing next to him! Found this younger model that looked sort of like him, enjoy!)

The air buzzed with excitement as I stepped into the Swap Convention, a sprawling warehouse turned marketplace where the impossible had become reality. It was the first event of its kind, a surreal bazaar where human body parts were traded like rare coins or vintage wines. My friends flanked me, their eyes wide as we passed booths draped in neon signs and holographic ads promising "Next-Gen Swap Services" and "Custom Bodies, One Limb at a Time."

I’d come with a clear plan: to trade my lanky, unremarkable frame for the chiseled arms of a jock, the sculpted legs of a gym rat, the torso of a magazine-cover hunk. I wanted perfection, piece by piece. But as I wandered deeper into the crowd, the thrill of it all swallowed me whole.

The convention floor was a sensory overload. People strutted by with mismatched limbs, some sporting sleek robotic arms, others flaunting tanned legs that didn’t quite match their pale torsos. A woman brushed past me, her right hand replaced with a delicate, porcelain-skinned one that flexed with unnatural grace. At a nearby booth, a man haggled over a pair of emerald-green eyes, holding them up to the light like gemstones. I couldn’t tear my gaze away. My fingers twitched with anticipation as I approached my first stand.

A nice lady with a warm smile stood behind a table piled high with arms. "These are fresh," she said, gesturing to a pair of thick, muscular ones, the skin sun-kissed and dusted with coarse blonde hair. They were strong, veined, the kind of arms that could lift you off your feet in a heartbeat. I hesitated only a moment before handing over my payment. She guided me to a curtained swap station, and with a quick, practiced motion, my old arms were detached, leaving my shoulders tingling. The new ones slotted into place with a soft click, and I gasped as the sensation flooded through me. They were heavy, powerful, the muscles flexing under my command as I ran my hands over their hairy expanse. A shiver of delight raced up my spine.

Next came the legs. A goth teen with spiked hair and a bored expression lounged at his stall, chewing gum as he pointed to a pair of thick, hairy thighs and calves propped up on a velvet cushion. "Good deal," he muttered, popping a bubble. They were sturdy, masculine, the blonde hair curling over the skin in wild patches. I traded my skinny legs without a second thought, stepping into the swap booth once more. The detachment was a cool, numbing sensation, followed by the warm rush of new flesh knitting itself to me. I stood taller now, my stance wider, the weight of those legs grounding me in a way that felt primal. I flexed my toes, marveling at the tickle of hair against my skin.

The torso came next, a steal from a jock who reeked of cheap beer and bravado. "Half price, man, take it," he slurred, patting the hairy chest with a slight beer gut that jiggled faintly. It wasn’t the six-pack I’d dreamed of, but there was something alluring about its ruggedness, the blonde fuzz spreading across the pecs and trailing down to the navel. I swapped it out, feeling the odd stretch as my old torso popped free and the new one locked in. My breath hitched as I ran my hands over the soft curve of the gut, the hair prickling against my palms. It was heavier than I was used to, but the warmth of it, the sheer presence, sent a slow heat curling through me.

By now, my clothes hung awkwardly on my patchwork frame, the seams straining against my broader chest and thicker limbs. I made my way to the clothing department, weaving through the crowd until I found a rack of khaki pants and a navy polo shirt sized for my new bulk. Slipping them on, I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror. The blonde hair on my arms and legs peeked out from the fabric, and the polo hugged my chest just right. I looked... different. Not the sleek Adonis I’d envisioned, but something earthier, more lived-in.

The adult section beckoned next, a dimly lit corner with velvet curtains and a faint musk in the air. My pulse quickened as I browsed the offerings, my eyes landing on a display of cocks laid out like fine jewelry. One caught my attention: thick, veined, with a hefty set of balls nestled beneath a tuft of blonde hair. It was bold, masculine, a perfect match for the body I’d been assembling. The vendor smirked as I handed over the cash, guiding me to a private booth.

The swap was quick but electric, my old parts slipping away as the new ones fused to me. I couldn’t help it, a soft moan escaped my lips as I gave it a tentative squeeze. The heft, the sensitivity, it was overwhelming, a pulse of pleasure shooting through me as I adjusted to its weight between my thighs.

Still in the adult section, I wandered further, my curiosity piqued by a small table tucked in the corner. There, displayed on a satin pillow, was a thick, rounded ass, the cheeks firm yet soft, covered in a fine layer of blonde fuzz that glinted under the low light. It was substantial, masculine, the kind of backside that filled out a pair of pants just right. I ran my fingers over it, feeling the warmth of the skin, the tickle of hair against my palm. "Go ahead, try it," the vendor said with a knowing grin. I nodded, stepping into the booth once more.

The swap was seamless, my old ass detaching with a faint pop, replaced by this new, plush one. I reached back, giving it a slow, deliberate squeeze. The sensation was intoxicating, the weight and softness pressing against my hands as a low groan rumbled in my throat. It settled perfectly against my hairy legs, completing the lower half of this strange, sensual puzzle I was building.

My friends caught up with me then, their laughter ringing out as they took in my transformation. "Dude, you look like someone’s hairy dad!" one of them teased, clapping me on the shoulder. I grinned, flexing my new arms for them, but as the day wore on, I lost track of them in the crowd. The convention was winding down, the lights dimming, and I found myself drawn to a shadowy corner where a single booth stood apart from the rest.

It was quiet here, the air thick with a strange energy. A sign above the booth read "Faces and Features," and as I stepped inside, my breath caught. The walls were lined with faces, preserved and displayed like masks, their eyes blank and mouths frozen. A creepy old man shuffled over, his grin wide and toothy as he looked me up and down. "Well, well," he rasped, "you’ve built quite the body. But that face... it doesn’t match. Thirty percent off any swap, my treat."

I scanned the faces, my stomach twisting with unease. Some were young, some old, some eerily beautiful. I was about to turn away when my gaze landed on it. A handsome, mature face with a lush blonde beard, framed by wire-rimmed glasses that accentuated piercing blue eyes. There was a quiet strength to it, a rugged charm that made my heart stutter. The old man followed my stare and chuckled. "Good choice. I’ll throw in the scalp, blonde and thick, for a discount. You won’t regret it."

I couldn’t say no. The chair creaked as I sat, my pulse racing as he adjusted the straps. "Relax," he murmured, his hands steady as he pressed a device to my scalp. A cool sensation spread over my head, and with a faint tug, my old hair was gone. He replaced it with the new blonde strands, falling soft and full against my neck. 

Next came the face. His fingers worked with eerie precision, peeling my old one away, the sensation like shedding a too-tight skin. The new face settled over me, warm and alive, the beard brushing my jaw as it fused. I licked my lips, tasting the unfamiliar texture of the new mouth.

"The eyes and tongue complete it," he said, already moving. My vision blurred as my old eyes were lifted out, replaced with the blue ones, sharp and vivid. The world snapped into focus, colors richer, details sharper. Then the tongue, thick and raspy, slotted into place. I spoke, testing it, and a deep, rumbling voice spilled out, laced with a faint accent I couldn’t place. "Holy hell," I muttered, the sound vibrating in my chest.

The old man stepped back, holding up a mirror. I stared, transfixed. A handsome, hairy, middle-aged man stared back, his face atop the body I’d pieced together. The strong arms, the thick legs, the broad, fuzzy torso with its slight gut, the hefty cock and that plush, fuzzy ass nestled in those khakis, it was all mine now. I ran my hands over my beard, my chest, my thighs, a slow, sensual exploration of every inch. Heat pooled in my core as I flexed my fingers, feeling the power, the weight, the sheer masculinity of it all.

I left the booth a new man, my steps heavy and deliberate as I moved through the fading crowd. The convention had changed me, not into the perfect jock I’d sought, but into something rawer, more real. And as I caught my reflection in a glass door, those blue eyes glinting back at me, I couldn’t help but smile. This body, this life, it fit me better than I’d ever imagined.

The convention hall was thinning out, but my bladder wasn’t waiting. After hours of swapping and wandering, I needed a restroom, fast. My new khaki pants felt snug against my thick thighs as I hurried toward the men’s room, the weight of my transformed body shifting with every step. I pushed through the door, relieved to find it quiet, and ducked into a stall.

Unbuckling my pants, I let them slide down just enough to free my new cock, the hefty length spilling out into my hand. As I aimed into the toilet, I couldn’t help but admire it mid-stream, the warm flow steady and strong. The blonde hair at its base, the thick veins running along its shaft, it was a thing of beauty, alien yet mine. A smirk tugged at my lips as the last drops fell.

The restroom felt empty, the hum of the convention distant behind the tiled walls. My hand lingered, curiosity getting the better of me. I wrapped my fingers around it, giving a slow, experimental tug. The sensitivity jolted through me, sharper than anything I’d felt before. Leaning forward, I braced one muscular arm against the stall wall, the hairy forearm flexing as I steadied myself. My other hand worked faster now, stroking the length with a rhythm that matched the pounding in my chest. The heft of it, the way it throbbed under my grip, sent heat curling up my spine. I bit my lip, stifling a groan, but as the pressure built, a deep, raspy sound slipped out anyway, echoing off the porcelain. My knees buckled slightly as I climaxed, a thick pulse spilling into the bowl, my breath ragged and hot.

A sudden voice cut through the haze. “Damn, didn’t know you had that in you, old man.” I jumped, nearly slipping, my head snapping toward the sound. The drunk jock from earlier leaned against the sink, a sloppy grin on his face, his eyes bleary but amused. I hadn’t even heard him come in. 

My face burned as he chuckled and stumbled out, leaving me alone again. Heart racing, I quickly wiped myself off with a wad of tissue, flushed the evidence away, and zipped up, the khakis hugging my new ass a little tighter now. At the sink, I washed my hands, catching my reflection in the smudged mirror. The handsome, bearded face staring back, framed by those piercing blue eyes and thick blonde hair, it was still a shock. I’d pieced this body together from strangers, yet it felt whole, powerful, mine.

Drying my hands, I wiped them on the back of my pants, my fingers brushing that plush, fuzzy ass. I gave it a slow, indulgent squeeze, savoring the firmness beneath the soft hair, a quiet thrill rippling through me.

Stepping out, I noticed the convention had nearly emptied, the once-bustling floor now a scattering of stragglers and closing booths. I wanted to surprise my friends with my final transformation, but they were nowhere in sight. Figuring they’d head to our usual meeting spot outside, I joined the sluggish line at the wardrobe to grab my jacket. When my turn came, the employee, a harried-looking guy with a clipboard, glanced at me and nodded. “Sir, here you go,” he said, thrusting a heavy wool coat and a fedora into my arms before I could protest. They weren’t mine, I’d checked a light windbreaker earlier, but he was already waving the next person forward. I frowned, feeling the weight of a wallet in the coat pocket. Fishing it out, I saw an ID card inside, but I didn’t bother reading it, too flustered to argue as the line shoved me along.

Clutching the unfamiliar coat and hat, I headed for the exit, hoping my friends could help me sort this out. As I neared the doors, a woman’s voice cut through the murmur. “Carl!” I turned, confused, only to see her rushing toward me, two kids in tow.

Before I could react, they crashed into me, small arms wrapping around my thick legs, their voices chirping “Daddy!” The woman, tears streaking her face, grabbed my shoulders, calling me Carl again. I opened my mouth to correct her, but she was sobbing too hard to hear, her hands patting my chest, my arms, even lifting my polo to inspect my hairy torso. She peeked down my pants, her breath hitching in relief. “Oh, thank God, you didn’t swap anything,” she whispered, clutching me tighter.

Bewildered, I let her pull me aside as she fumbled with her phone, shoving a photo in my face. “I found your letter this morning,” she said, voice trembling. “About how you wanted to leave us, start over at this damn convention. I thought I’d lost you.” The screen showed a family on a beach, her smiling beside a man in a tight speedo. My stomach dropped. It was me, or rather, the body I wore now: the strong arms, the hairy legs, the broad chest with its slight gut, even the thick ass straining that swimsuit. Scars on his left elbow and right thigh matched mine exactly, and a small tattoo on his chest mirrored the one I’d noticed earlier. Somehow, impossibly, I’d reassembled this man’s entire body, piece by piece, without even knowing it.

Still reeling, I barely registered her dragging me toward the exit, the kids clinging to my hands. As we stepped outside, I collided with a group of guys by the entrance. My friends. They were laughing, recounting the day, and among them stood... me. My old face, perched atop a muscle-packed stud’s body, all rippling biceps and sculpted abs. He flashed me a gleeful smile, one I couldn’t quite read, before they melted into the dispersing crowd.

I stood frozen, the woman’s arm looped through mine, the kids tugging at my coat. I should’ve said something, shouted after my friends, told this family I wasn’t their Carl. But as I glanced down at the wool coat draping my broad shoulders, the fedora in my hand, a perverse thrill twisted inside me. This handsome, well-dressed, hairy, mature body felt right, like I’d been molded into it by some cosmic hand. Maybe fate had guided me to these body parts, to this life. The thought of stepping into it, becoming him fully, sent a shiver of dark excitement through me.

I adjusted the fedora on my head, gave my thick ass one last discreet squeeze, and let my new family lead me away, to my new home.

[nman-blog]

Possession is 9/10th the law

“Hahaha, oh man, I still don’t think you’ve realized how things are gonna work from now on.” he said, laughing into his hand. “I know you only wanted my body for an undercover op, but the thing is, I kinda like how things are now. And now I am Officer Carter and you’re just some petty criminal with priors, I don’t think you’re in any position to argue, right, Vlad? I mean, listen to you, you don’t even sound American anymore.”

“Hey, calm down man, if you even touch me, I can arrest you for assaulting a police officer. Time you got used to the new way of things around here. So here it what we are going to do: We’re gonna use that little device of yours to give me all your knowledge of how to be a cop, and you’re gonna carry on my life. Agree and give me 50% of your earnings, and I’ll protect you. Disagree, and I’ll arrest you here and now, maybe even get you deported. Got it? Good. And you best start getting used to that reflection, Vlad.”

[nman-blog]

Enclave

The iron groaned a mournful song under the relentless assault of Ilya's might. The downtown Munich gym is his church, where he attended the sermon 6 times a week like a devout worshipper of muscle god or something. His senses already embraced this place like a comfort zone, his nose already used to its thick air filled with the scents of sweat, iron, and protein shakes.

He's a mountain carved from granite and sinew. His head — shaved smooth and gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights — is the only uninterrupted plane on a body that is otherwise a riot of bulging muscles. He lowered the barbell, a controlled descent of colossal weight, each movement a testament to years of brutal, unwavering dedication. His Slavic heritage is etched into his features: the high cheekbones, the strong jaw, the deep-set, almost brooding eyes that, in their usual state, held a surprising gentleness. His deltoids are capped like cannonballs threatening to burst from his skin, each fiber distinct and defined. Trapezius muscles, thick as pythons, flowed into a neck that seemed to bear the weight of the world with ease. His chest, a slab of striated muscle, rippled with every breath, the pectorals dense and powerful. Down his torso, the abdominal muscles are not merely defined; they are sculpted, each block a hard, prominent ridge. His arms — biceps peaked and triceps horseshoe-shaped — are a pair of boulder-like muscle, veins mapping routes across their surface like tributaries on a powerful river and its roundness clearly outsized pomelos and resembled small melon. And then his legs. Hidden beneath loose training pants, they are pillars of strength, quads like carved hams and calves that strained against the fabric, promising explosive power. His very presence in the gym altered the atmosphere, a silent, awe-inspiring monument to human potential, albeit one forged in iron and sweat. And beneath the training gear, unseen but powerfully present, hung a fleshy pendulum of formidable size, a meaty appendage that completed the portrait of raw, masculine physicality.

Despite his intimidating physique, he's known for his quiet politeness, a soft-spoken giant offering spotting assistance with a shy smile. But in this gym, under these weights, gentleness is shed like a worn-out skin. Here, he is pure power.

Today, however, there's also something slightly different about him. Yes, Ilya moved with the same focused intensity, the same Herculean strength, but there's a subtle shift in his eyes, a flicker of something cold behind the pale blue eyes. His usual polite nods to fellow gym-goers has been noticeably absent today. His breathing, normally rhythmic and controlled, is shallow and rapid, as if something inside him is struggling to adapt, to take hold. Little did the other realized, there's something brewing inside Ilya after that visit to the bathhouse last night.

It arrived silently, a microscopic shard of interstellar "ice", drifting through the void until it snagged on Earth’s gravity well. It's not a virus, nor bacteria, but something far older, far simpler – a primal microscopic consciousness seeking a vessel, a predator of minds. It had sought strength, power, a form capable of propagation. And just last night, through the steam emanated from one of the warm pool inside the bathhouse, the extraterrestrial threat latched itself to Ilya's nostrils and started to infect his whole system

The possession wasn't instantaneous. It was a slow creep, a tendril of alien will wrapping around Ilya's own, subtly at first, like the insidious tendrils of a parasitic vine strangling a mighty oak. At first, it was merely a heightened sense of aggression when he woke up this morning, a sharper edge to his focus and a more irritable personality. He almost punched a hole through his wall as he almost slipped. Then, he devoured his breakfast with such calculated speed rather, if someone witnessed him earlier this morning, clearly they would be able to tell that there's something wrong with the gentle giant. Then, it was the detachment, a growing indifference to the human niceties that had defined him. Not saying hi to Mrs. Bauer or Mr. Honau. Not saying hi to the jogger he frequently met during his morning run. And then obviously, his total silent and predatory observation of the other gymgoers as he arrrived and proceeded to do his set, yes he's reserved but not this reserved – but not like the others dared to ask stupid questions like

"Why are you so quiet today, bro?" to a generally reserved and quiet gymgoers as if there's no other worthy conversation

Eventually, the possession completed and Ilya is now operated by an entirely different living being. He seemingly zoned out for a minute or two after he destroyed yet another set. That's when the alien wrapped Ilya's brain entirely and extraterrestrial life form take full control of the massive bodybuilder and all his bodily system. As he opened his eyes back and close his gaping mouth, his facial expression looked way different from his usual stoic expression. There's malice and bad intention plastered all over the way he squinted his eyes and grinned at the sight of the other gymgoers.

Marching into action right away, he decided that his first act of action will be not to wipe the sweat from the weight he just used. It's laced with his now tainted sweat and he's eager to spread it to as many gymgoers as he can through as many means possible. Jonas is one of the first to grab the barbell and instantly his body reacted rather quickly as he shivered from head-to-toe after realizing that the grip is still wet from sweats. He wipes his hands to his compression shirt, making the infection faster and before he realized it, the alien already etched itself to his brain and started to get bigger for bigger control area.

Then, as Ilya moved to his next set of weights, he purposefully lingered too long and too close to the others. His breath, now subtly tainted with an alien miasma imperceptible to the human senses, washing over the close-proximity target and affecting them slowly but surely without them knowing

To up the ante, even during the waiting, he even started to bump against other gymgoer in the cramped weight room, accidental at first, then with a growing, unsettling deliberateness as if he's trying to mess with them. Well, he's in fact messing with them as skin-to-skin contact quickly affect the target compared to his tainted breath. Bruno learned it the hard way as he lost control over his body in mere minutes after bumping with Ilya, the Bruno that stared back from the mirror in the locker room is no longer the former corporal of the German Army, but surely one that will enjoy to use his military connection for further infection

The infection spread insidiously through the gym, a silent, invisible contagion. Other men began to exhibit similar changes. Increased aggression, a coldness creeping into their eyes, an unsettling focus on physical contact. The gym atmosphere shifted, the camaraderie replaced by a tense, unspoken awareness, a primal undercurrent of something deeply wrong as Ilya's minions come alive and started to do exactly the same thing to the rest of the other not yet affected by the infection like a wolf pack in a hunting spree. They infect the rest with such cold and careless roughness, grabbing their faces and kissing them for faster infection or even going as far as shoving the unsuspecting folks directly to their tainted pits

The last one for conversion is this new joiner that just signed up to the gym last week. Deniz is a young man, barely out of his teens, with a delicate frame and a striking mix of German and Turkish features – dark eyes framed by thick lashes, a slender build, and a vulnerability that radiated from him like heat. As a newcomer, he's shy and tentative, his workouts light and hesitant. He is, in the alien consciousness's cold calculus, the perfect final prey.

Deniz didn't see any of the onslaught so Ilya approached the obvious Turk as he is changing his clothes to hit his workout. A cold and calculated "hey" rumbled from Ilya, it sounded a bit coarsed but nothing too drastic from Ilya's usual tones

Deniz jumped, startled. "Uh, hey," he stammered, avoiding eye contact.

"You have potential," Ilya continued, his voice a low purr. "I could help you."

Deniz, confused but slightly intrigued by the attention from the gym's behemoth, hesitantly looked up. "Really?"

Ilya nodded, a slow, deliberate movement. "Yeah, I can blow you up, making you a proper fit for my offspring,"

"Wait, what?"

And that's when Ilya grabbed Deniz by his arm and then roughly kisses the young and slender twunk. Deniz slipped through the trappings in part to his slender frame and Ilya's sweaty body, but the resistance turned futile as Ilya eventually cornered him into the endless shower row. Eventually, Deniz found himself cornered to one of the shower stall, Ilya's face looking lustful and hungry as he looked down to the 5'8" newbie, his body radiating this inhumanely terrifying heat unlike Deniz's ever known before. That's also the first time Deniz realized that there's something off from the way Ilya's stare at him, like it is void of human empathy or warmth

He forced Deniz down onto the cold tile of the shower stall, his movements brutal and efficient. Deniz struggled, a whimper escaping his lips, but it's futile against Ilya's overwhelming strength.

The alien consciousness, through Ilya's actions, is not motivated by pleasure, nor by human desires. It's driven by a primal imperative to propagate, to spread, to conquer. And in the cold shower stall under the bright indifferent gaze of the harsh lightbulb, Ilya, the once gentle giant, brutally forced himself upon the terrified young man.

Ilya's meaty appendage, now imbued with the alien essence, found its mark with brutal efficiency. The alien entity, through Ilya, is seeding its infection in a new host, ensuring its survival, its spread into the unwitting human population by a more powerful and potent means compared to his mere sweat or saliva that minionized the other gymgoers. This is him creating an independent Trojan horse ready to run amok among the human population and this Trojan horse looked perfect as Deniz found himself growing bigger as every second passes with Ilya's tainted cum seeping into his system and affecting his physique and mind. He screamed in agony as muscle that usually take months or years to build in a normal human appeared in minutes on his body. His body grows taller faster than a baby whale hitting their growth spurt – easily reaching 6'4" in less than 10 seconds – while his inexistent abs thickened and carved faster than Michelangelo sculpting David's. His facial feature hardened alongside the strengthening of his calves and quads that then followed by the growing meatiness inside his increasingly-restrained underwear. While Deniz is groaning and growing in the bathroom stall, Ilya attentively prepared bigger clothing pieces for his newly-minted creation in the locker room. A huge, loose tanktop, a tight gym shorts and compression underwear that can stretch easily to accomodate his creation's bigger junk, crisp white pair of size 14 shoes and its matching socks and at last, just a musty gym bag filled with assortment of new clothings for Deniz future usage

When Ilya returned to the site, a naked, much-bigger, water-cum-and-sweat covered Deniz stands up in the middle of the shower row with a smirk plastered on his face

"Dad," the new Deniz muttered, and Ilya grinned like a maniac upon sighting his glorious creation already looking like a fine human breeder ready to be in action. The success of Deniz conversion seems like a decent assurance that "Ilya" can establish an enclave here on Earth, certainly beats living in an unrestrained, icy and vast space realm