stheman

[stheman]

[stheman]

Can you turn me into a horny 40-year-old with an extra extravagant mustache?

Hey there, who do ya think ya are? Salvador Dali? Dr. Fu Man Chu? Extravagant mustache, huh? Man, I don't roll like that… A mustache ain't s'posed to be extravagant. It's what makes ya a man! A real man! One who sweats testosterone like it's sweet tea in the summertime. You ready for this?

First off: if ya wanna sport a mustache, ya gotta have the right hairdo. Either a buzz cut or, even better, a top-notch mullet. Wash that bad boy just once a week, and in cold water ‘hind the barn, of course. That’s how ya keep it greasy and frame up that mustache nice. A mustache ain't for show, it's gotta have some power. If ya ain't Errol Flynn, don’t be layin’ down a thin line on your lip. Your goal is a walrus. An epic mustache looks plain silly if yer neck ain't tougher than yer noggin.

NOW that’s a real mustache. It graces a true man. If yer head only holds hard work, pumpin’ iron, and gettin’ it on in the country bar's dark room, then that head deserves this here beard.

Shoot, yer nips are so sensitive, it’s like ya can’t stop messin’ with ‘em. Just be careful ‘bout that precum makin’ your britches wet. So go find ya a partner and then get back to the barn to fix that combine!

[stheman]

Static Muscle - video footage found from a camera in 1998.

[stheman]

[stheman]

(inspired by the one & only @fattystoriez, this is a prequel to Preston's 18th Birthday)

Travis had always prided himself on his ambition.

At eighteen, he already had a promising future ahead of him — a scholarship to a top university, a beautiful fiancée named Megan, and a baby boy only months away from being born. He planned to be the kind of father he never had growing up. His own father, Carl, had walked out on the family when Travis was still in diapers.

The night of his eighteenth birthday was supposed to be a celebration. Megan had planned a homecooked dinner and game night with Travis's mom and a few of their close friends. But everything changed when Carl showed up unannounced. A heavy fist thudded against the front door, and Travis was the first to answer.

It had been years since Travis had even heard his father’s name spoken, yet there Carl was, standing on the porch — he was a bald with a thick, dark beard. His huge, beachball sized gut had burst through the buttons on what must have once been a nice dress shirt, and the sour stink of beer and gas clung to him like a second skin. Travis focused on the sheer girth of the man, the way his massive belly jiggled as he drew in a ragged breath. Even his huge, hairy tits couldn't be contained by his XXL shirt.

“Travis,” Carl greeted with a gruff voice and a wide grin, exposing his yellowed teeth and exhaling the scent of cigarette smoke and fried food. “Figured I oughta be here for my boy’s big day.”

Travis barely managed to keep his disgust hidden as he frowned at the obese, raunchy man. Even after being told about his father’s betrayal, Travis liked to fantasize about who Carl actually was. As a kid, he imagined his dad was a police officer, or an astronaut. He liked to pretend Carl's job had been why he couldn't stick around, but the man standing in front of him looked more like a stereotype of a dirty plumber than anything else.

The truth was hard to come to terms with. Travis stared at the bloated man as his huge gut bounced and sloshed with lard, unable to be contained by his useless shirt. His father was nothing like the man Travis planned to become. This man was an obese, bald loser with hygiene issues and an a smoking addiction.

Still, something in Carl’s intense gaze made Travis's stomach twist. He could hear it gurgling.

Travis needed to hear Carl's side of the story, so he quickly stepped onto the porch and closed the front door behind him with a quiet thud. The air was thick with unspoken tension, and the meaty stench of a fart seemed to orbit around the massive man he struggled to view as his father. "Mom isn't going to allow you inside, but you drove here, right? We can go to the diner together. I'll at least hear you out."

The pickup truck the two squeezed into seemed to amplify all the smells, like belches and farts were embedded into the old leather cushions. The thick girth of Carl pressed against Travis, shoving the slender teen against the car door as he found himself literally stuck between a rock and a very fat place. Travis was able to notice that they had a similar eye color and the same dark, curly brown hair. Only, Travis still had it on his head, and Carl had it around his chubby, sagging face. The similarities ended there: an athletic jock and an obese slob driving in silence.

Once they arrived at the diner and received their orders, they passed the first few minutes with awkward small talk. Carl barely touched his towering stack of maple drenched pancakes, watching Travis intently. Travis found himself eating eagerly, as if he hasn’t already eaten the breakfast his mother had cooked only a half hour ago. Finally, as the meal wound down, Carl leaned in, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers up Travis’s spine. The musk of his father rolled over him in a thick wave. “You ever wonder why I left, boy?”

Travis swallowed hard. He was so close to finally having an answer, but opening up about his feelings was a daunting task. He had always longed for a father, but was it worth it to stoop this low? “I figured you just didn’t care enough to stay.”

Carl chuckled, his fat gut pressed against the table and making it shake, but there was no humor in the sound. “Not exactly. You see, men in our family… we got a curse. A blessing, really. But it don’t matter how hard you fight it, how much you wanna be different. It’s in your blood.”

Travis frowned, having to clear his throat as his voice began to take on the same hoarse quality as his father's. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Carl pulled something from his pocket—a grease stained, crumpled old photograph. Travis hesitated before taking it. The man in the image was almost unrecognizable, but the longer he stared, the more it all started to make sense. It was Carl in the photo, younger, leaner, and with a striking resemblance to Travis himself. It was shocking to see how much a human's body could change over the years.

“That was me at eighteen,” Carl said, his hand rubbing circles on his engorged, hairy belly. It was jutting out from his dress shirt like a hairy beachball, begging to be worshipped. “Before it happened.”

Travis scoffed, about to throw the photo the ground when a sharp pain twisted in his gut. He doubled over, a cold sweat breaking out across his body as he started to tremble. The gurgling was back again, a tightness in his stomach that made him feel like he needed to pass gas.

“What the—?” The words died in his throat as heat surged through his limbs. His fingers were shaking, his vision blurred. And his muscles, once lean and toned, tingled—then they began to soften. Like someone was pumping him full of dough. His chest felt itchy before the firm definition of his pecs sank into soft, pliant flesh. Dark curls of hair started to poke through his skin. It didn’t take long before the front of his shirt was stretched by a pair of saggy man boobs. Travis’s arms thickened, his lean biceps swallowed by layers of fat.

And that was only the beginning.

He gasped as his stomach pushed outward, stretching his shirt until the fabric groaned and began to tear at the seams. Rolls upon rolls of flesh surged forth, his abs dissolving beneath an avalanche of lard. Every trace of his old physique was being swallowed by a body that began to look increasingly like Carl's. His thighs ballooned, pressing against each other. His once-taut ass was spread out and sagging against the chair beneath him. Travis felt his asshole twitching between his swampy crack. His fat ass cheeks jiggled as he squeezed out a hot, sputtering fart against his will.

PRFFFFFFFFFFFFT!

The smell came next, and it was noxious. A deep, pungent musk seemed to ooze from his pores—thick, sour, inescapable. He reeked of body odor, stale sweat, and something heavier, something rotten.

“No—No, this isn’t—” His voice was deeper now, rougher, his breath coming in ragged, phlegmy wheezes. His vision cleared just enough to catch his reflection in the diner window—a bloated, thirty plus slob stared back at Travis. His sharp jaw had disappeared beneath jowls, his youthful face buried beneath a double chin and stubble. Sweat had soaked through his now ruined dress shirt. The flimsy fabric clung to his hairy gut for dear life. His belly looked even larger than Carl’s.

The buttons didn't take long to start flying off.

Travis stank. And worse—he was getting used to it. He breathed in deep, his shrinking cock twitching as it rubbed against his soft, fat body.

Carl laughed, clapping Travis on the shoulder. “Ain’t no fightin’ it, son. We were meant for this life. Me, my daddy before me, and now you.”

Travis wanted to scream, to fight, but his body was betraying him. A deep rumble built in his gut before he let out a thick, meaty belch. The sheer release sent shudders of disgusting pleasure through him. His cock—once proud and athletic—twitched beneath his huge gut, crushed under his fat pad. He tried to cling to his identity, but his memories of the old Travis were fading fast. He wasn't strong enough to stop himself from burping and farting them all out,

PRFFFFFFFFFT! BELCH.

Megan. His unborn son. His future.

All of it—

Gone.

A new hunger replaced the old ambitions. The thought of responsibility, of fatherhood, of discipline, felt foreign to the hog now. A greasy, gluttonous craving overtook everything else. His stomach gurgled loudly, demanding more. Without thinking, he reached for the pancakes Carl was ignoring, shoveling sugary bites into his mouth, moaning at the taste. His nub of a cock leaked pre down his fat leg. He was so happy he couldn't help but jiggle for his Daddy.

Carl leaned back, grinning as he squeezed and played with his own gut. “That’s my boy.”

As Travis sat there, gorging himself and flaunting his size, his past life faded into a distant haze. He wasn’t meant to be a father. He wasn’t meant to amount to anything of note. "Oh, Daddy. Thank you." He was only meant for this—to be a lazy, filthy slob with no worries beyond when his Daddy would provide his next meal. The two of them were now bonded for life, and the old Travis disappeared without a trace.

And the best part?

He was absolutely in love.

"This was the best birthday yet, Daddy. Yer gonna have to let me repay ya." Maybe the other diner guests should have been shocked to see the obese, filthy father and son began to fondle and play with one another in public. Their huge bellies met across the table and rubbed together as they moaned. It seemed that Travis had some latent magic of his own, the same blood curse his father warned him about. The hornier Travis got, the more the diner begun to heat up. And the more the guests became hotter and hornier and hungrier, too.

Travis heard the clothes ripping as men swelled to epic proportions.

And he heard the grunting sound of pig-like men shoveling food down their throats.

From a visiting businessman to the diner's very own chef, no man was safe from the magic that Carl and Travis unleashed.

And Travis was too busy sucking on his Daddy's fat tits to notice.

[stheman]

[stheman]

[stheman]

[stheman]

[stheman]

In this office, my look is a little "cookie cutter" like. I've been told the way to get ahead is for your "work to be loud" and your "look to be quiet." I'm not taking any chances.

[stheman]

A Model Neighborhood

Matt Sullivan, 18, sat in the passenger seat of the family car, watching the rows of neatly aligned houses pass by through the window with a dull eye. His father, Richard, smiled as he drove, delighted at their arrival in their new suburb, Oakridge.

“This is a great place, Matt. You’ll see, we’ll be happy here.”

The young man didn’t answer. To him, it was just another move forced on him by his father’s job, another transfer. He already hated this overly clean neighborhood, its overly trimmed lawns, its overly polite neighbors who waved at them with mechanical enthusiasm.

That evening, as they were unpacking their boxes, a neighbor in an impeccable suit and a bright smile knocked on the door.

“Welcome to Oakridge! I’m Peter Wainwright. Richard, right?”

“Yes!” his father replied, visibly delighted.

“Nice to meet you. If you need anything, don’t hesitate. We stick together here!”

Matt frowned. There was something strange about the way Peter spoke, as if he were repeating a memorized text.

For the first few days, everything seemed normal. His father went to work in his usual suit, without much change.

But Matt quickly noticed strange details.

His father got up earlier to prepare a perfect breakfast: scrambled eggs, bacon, toast buttered with precision.

He ate while watching the local news, punctuated by omnipresent advertisements for preppy clothes, pastel ties, Oakridge Shave razors, and Preppy Obey perfume.

“That perfume smells nice, don’t you think, Matt? It’s a local brand, everyone uses it here.”

His smile seemed… frozen.

Every day, he went to work with increasing enthusiasm. His suits became more formal, his ties more colorful. He gelled his hair, styling it into a perfect Ivy League cut.

In the evenings, he talked only about his boss, his colleagues, and the benefits of an orderly life.

“You should try golf, Matt. It’s a refined sport.”

His father soon signed up as a volunteer for always smiling, always helpful.

[stheman]

[stheman]

Reposts from @barbertownworcs This is a haircut that belongs in my series: some posts just need to be reposted. I like this haircut. It is traditional, authentic and unpretentious. It has a strong vintage appeal with old school traits and is still fresh and current. It has strong definition with clean contours and groomed, polished finish. Great cut! 🔹Know your “Layering” .. Tension..Graduation.. Removing weight ..whilst retaining length and Shape ..💈.. All round view …. Long layers .. Weight/bulk removed .. Clipper over comb taper .. Natural parting put in .. Blow-dried and combed some @hairbond “Sculptor” through to finish .. Proper traditional short..back n sides.. #StaySharp Guys.🔹 💈✂️💈 #pomp #quiff #taper #fade #sidepart #beard #sideburns #slick #pomade #barber #barbertownworcs

Source (Instagram): @barbertownworcs Shop: Barbertown Location: Worcester/UK Montage: @flatmax

via ✨ @padgram ✨(http://dl.padgram.com) https://instagram.com/p/7dKJvrCKs5/

[stheman]

@schorembarbier ’s red @reuzel from our lady #barber @hayden_cassidy ! Give her a follow & pop into her in #templebar. #fadecity

@cutandsewdublin

[stheman]

Yes, I'm actually here for a haircut. My folks don't like it combed back on the sides or this long on top. They say that isn't how a young man is supposed to have his haircut.

[stheman]

Visiting my Grandfather, the barber, he insisted on giving me a haircut. I certainly look like one of his family now with this haircut.

[stheman]

I always get the sides cut shorter. It helps to reduce the appearance of the grey. I'm also told it brings out my eyes....