the-manlover

[the-manlover]

Thrifted Snapback

James loved perusing the thrift stores in his college town in the Midwest. There was something so magnificent about being able to style an entire outfit and personality around one specific second-hand item. Being so skinny, the pants he would buy needed to be styled with a belt, but it was part of the magic of being able to make something new out of someone else’s clothes.

In one of the smaller stores at the edge of town, James stumbled upon a section filled with miscellaneous accessories. Always a sucker for pieces that added a little flair to the fabric, James began to sort through them: a waterproof watch, a seashell necklace, some knee pads, stud earrings, and… a black snapback. 

James paused. He had always avoided getting headwear at thrift stores because of the risk of lice, but there was something intriguing about this hat. Lifting it up to his face, he took a sniff: it smelled clean, with only a hint of sunscreen. It was perfectly plain enough to add to any outfit of his. He wanted it. Trotting up to the cash register, he made his purchase and headed out of the store, hopping onto the first bus back to campus.

As soon as he got back into his dorm room, James immediately pulled out the snapback and put it on his head with the rim facing forward. Looking in the mirror, he smirked at how he stupid he looked. No one cool wore a hat with the rim forward. He pulled the snapback off of his head and turned it around, slowly placing it back on his head.

Suddenly, he felt a strange jolt of electricity surge through his body, starting from the top of his head and flowing down through his entire being. At first, he thought he had been electrocuted, but then he felt a sense of warmth spreading throughout his body, and his hair began to change.

His hair began to grow at an incredible rate, inching down his back and around his shoulders like golden waves. It felt soft and bouncy to the touch, with a texture that reminded him of cotton candy. The color of his hair changed too, shifting from its original dark brown to a bright, sunny blond. His eyebrows grew thick and manly, transforming from his manicured arches into bushy caterpillars. As he blinked, dumbfounded at his transformation, his eyes lightened to a bright blue color. 

His biceps bulged like melons, with veins that looked like they were about to burst. His chest expanded into a broad, chiseled wall of muscle, complete with a deep, rippled cleavage that seemed to have a life of its own. Even his abs were impossibly defined, with six-pack muscles that looked like they had been chiseled out of stone. But it wasn't just his upper body that was changing. His legs grew thicker and more powerful, with quads that bulged out like balloons and calves that looked like they could crush coconuts. His butt, which had once been flat and unremarkable, now jutted out like a shelf, perfectly sculpted and round. His feet slowly stretched out on the floor, pushing against the hard, cold surface. His toes stretched and lengthened, growing thick blond hair on the tops, spreading to the tops of his feet and snaking up his legs. The thick blond hair found its way to his torso, swirling up into his armpits, which grew dense forests of hair. The hair began encircling his crotch, which pulsated with energy. With each electric burst coming from the cap, the bulge in his pants swelled further and further, causing waves of immense pleasure to emanate throughout his entire body.

James’ newly blue eyes began to water up, forcing him to bring his massive hands to his face and wipe them dry. When he took his hands away, he found himself no longer in his dingy dorm in the Midwest. Instead, James found himself in the sun on the beach in some tropical paradise. The electricity began to concentrate on his head again. He grabbed his skull, unable to focus on anything besides the waves of electric pleasure shooting through his body. He couldn’t think straight. The hat was doing something strange to him and it needed to stop.

This was wrong. He couldn't be on the beach! He needed to get back to his dorm because he had classes tomorrow. He paused. Classes? He had dropped out of college years ago to travel the world. His head hurt. What was happening? He had never been this muscular before, how would he explain this to his friends and family? They would never believe it. James gripped the snapback with his hands, trying desperately to pry it from his head. As he struggled with it, the muscles in his arms tensed trying to rip it off, flexing his massive biceps and working up a sweat in his hairy armpits. His head felt foggy, but he needed to get this damn hat off.

Finally, with one big yank, James pulled the snapback from his head and tossed it into the sand, along with all the memories of his former life as a scrawny Midwest nerd. Turning around in the sand, James began to stroll back to the condo he was renting in Hawaii, leaving his massive footprints in the sand. Entering the house, he reached for his muscular abdomen with his enormous hand and turned back towards the beach. All the ladies at the beach were cooing at him and his massive body; they all wanted a piece of him. This was going to be a fun night.

[the-manlover]

Connor was the kind of lad no one cared to notice. Skinny, awkward, with a bowl cut his mum insisted was "practical." His wardrobe? A disaster of oversized jumpers, pressed slacks, and polished black shoes that looked like they’d never seen dirt. When his family moved to a council estate on the rough side of town, he knew he’d stick out like a sore thumb.

The house was a dump—peeling wallpaper, creaky floors, the works. While exploring the attic, Connor stumbled across a strange find: a pair of Nike TNs, completely untouched, sitting on a dusty floor like they’d been left there just for him.

They were his size.

He hesitated but couldn’t resist. Slipping his feet in, he felt an odd sensation immediately. The shoes gripped his feet tightly, like they were refusing to let go. He tried to pull them off, but they wouldn’t budge.

“What the hell?” he muttered, stumbling as a searing heat shot up his legs, spreading through his entire body.

He watched in horror as his clothes morphed into a black Nike tracksuit, snug over his suddenly bulging frame. His scrawny arms swelled with muscle, his chest filled out, and veins snaked along his forearms. A layer of coarse hair sprouted on his arms and chest, and his legs felt heavier, stronger.

His reflection in the dusty mirror stopped him cold. His bowl cut had disappeared, replaced by a sharp buzz cut that gave him a hard, intimidating edge. His glasses were gone, and his jawline looked sharper, more defined.

He didn’t look like himself anymore.

“Connor?!” his mum’s voice cut through the air, shrill and panicked. She stood in the attic doorway, eyes wide with shock.

“What’s happened to you?” she demanded, taking a step closer. “Your hair! Your clothes! What the bloody hell’s going on?!”

Connor turned to her slowly, a wicked smirk creeping across his face. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel small or weak.

“Fuck off, bitch,” he snarled, his voice low and dripping with venom.

Her jaw dropped. “Connor! Don’t you dare—”

He cut her off by flipping her off with a casual flick of his fingers. Without another word, he pushed past her and stomped down the stairs, each step heavier and more deliberate than the last.

The estate outside felt different—less intimidating, more alive. The shoes seemed to guide him, and before long, he found himself near the offie where a group of lads were gathered. Tracksuits, TNs, and cigarettes—it was like they’d been waiting for him.

One of them, a tall lad with a scar slicing through his eyebrow, eyed him up. “Oi, look at this one,” he said with a smirk. “Proper unit, ain’t he?”

Connor stopped, meeting his gaze.

“Nice kicks,” the lad said, nodding at his TNs.

“Cheers,” Connor replied, his voice deep and confident.

“Got a name, mate?”

He grinned. “Con.”

The lads exchanged looks, and the scarred one tossed him a cigarette. “Go on then, bruv. Prove you’re one of us.”

Con lit the cigarette without hesitation, taking a deep drag. The smoke hit his lungs hard, but it felt... right. With every puff, the shoes loosened their grip, as if approving of the new him. By the time he stubbed it out, he wasn’t just wearing the look—he was the look.

“Welcome to the crew, mate,” the scarred lad said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Con smirked, rolling his shoulders. He belonged here now. The streets were his, and the old Connor? He wasn’t coming back.

[the-manlover]

The New Life

Martin had always been the quiet, unassuming type. A software engineer by trade, his days were spent coding, sipping black coffee, and meticulously planning every moment of his life. His evenings were reserved for gaming marathons, vinyl record sessions, or quietly nurturing his bonsai tree. Moving into a small flat on the outskirts of Birmingham was supposed to be a practical step, a chance to save money and focus on work.

The flat wasn’t much, but Martin liked its simplicity. The only peculiar thing was the landlord, a man he had never met. The lease was finalized online, and the key had been left in a lockbox. Every question Martin emailed received curt, almost cryptic replies signed simply, “J.”

One late night, after staying up to debug an infuriating piece of code, Martin collapsed into bed, still wearing his plain grey hoodie and jeans. He drifted off immediately, his laptop humming softly on his desk.

When he woke, his world had changed.

The first thing he noticed was the weight on his chest. Groggily, Martin looked down and saw a thick, gleaming gold chain resting against a black Nike tracksuit. The outfit was completed by a black puffer jacket and a pair of pristine white Nike TNs on his feet.

Panicking, Martin stumbled out of bed and caught his reflection in the mirror. His neatly combed hair was gone, replaced by a sharp buzz cut. His room, once spotless, was a wreck—empty takeaway containers, cans of lager, and scraps of paper were strewn everywhere. His laptop was missing, replaced by a battered Bluetooth speaker blaring grime music at low volume.

His heart racing, Martin snatched his phone off the bedside table, only to find it completely wiped. All his apps, contacts, and files were gone. The only thing left was a single number saved under the name “J.”

Trembling, he pressed the call button.

“’Bout bloody time,” a deep, gravelly voice answered on the first ring. “Come ‘round the back o’ the block. We need a word.”

“Who are you? What’s going on?” Martin stammered.

“Quit yappin’ and get yer arse down here, mate.” The call ended abruptly.

Martin didn’t know why, but he felt compelled to obey. Pulling on the puffer jacket, he stepped into the cold evening air and walked around the back of the building.

There, leaning casually against the wall, was a man in a black puffer jacket and trackies. He was smoking a cigarette, his buzzed head gleaming in the faint glow of the streetlight. His posture was relaxed, but something about him radiated authority.

“’Ere he is,” the man said with a smirk, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Sleep well, bruv?”

Martin stared. “Are you… J?”

“That’s what they call me,” the man said, tapping ash off his cigarette. “So, what d’ya think of yer new look?”

“I hate it!” Martin snapped. “What is this? I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want this!”

Jay laughed, his voice rough and mocking. “Come off it, lad. Don’t act like you’re not buzzin’. I’ve seen yer socials, seen all them scally pages you follow. Don’t lie to me.”

Martin’s cheeks flushed. He had spent hours scrolling through photos of lads in tracksuits, admiring their swagger and confidence. But that didn’t mean he wanted to be one.

“This isn’t me,” he insisted, backing away.

Jay took a slow drag of his cigarette and stepped closer. His voice dropped to a low, commanding tone. “Stop pretendin’, mate. This is who you’ve always wanted to be. Now, take a drag o’ this cig and let it sink in.”

“I don’t smoke,” Martin mumbled.

Jay raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Didn’t ask if you did, did I? Now, stop bein’ soft and take it.”

Martin hesitated, but Jay’s imposing presence was too much. Slowly, he took the cigarette. He brought it to his lips, inhaling deeply. The smoke burned his throat, making him cough, but as he exhaled, everything began to shift.

A strange warmth spread through his body. His muscles tensed and grew, filling out the tracksuit. His back straightened, and his posture shifted to one of casual confidence.

Jay chuckled, clapping Martin on the shoulder. “There ya go, lad. Told ya it’d suit ya.”

Over the next few days, Martin’s life unraveled completely. He quit his office job without a second thought. “Desk jobs are for nerds,” he scoffed when Jay asked him about it. Instead, he took up a hard labor gig at a nearby warehouse. The pay was awful, but Martin didn’t care. He liked the physicality of it, the way it made him feel strong and capable.

Every night, Jay would knock on his door, and they’d head out together. They’d hang around the estate or outside the local chippy, blasting grime music and chatting with Jay’s mates. At first, Martin felt out of place, but as the nights went on, he began to embrace it.

He started rolling cigarettes with ease, perfecting his swagger, and adjusting his tracksuit to show off his gold chain. He even picked up a thick Brummie slang, finding himself talking more like Jay and less like his old, nerdy self.

His flat became a reflection of his new life—messy, lively, and filled with the sound of music and laughter. The Martin who once prided himself on his orderliness and ambition was gone.

One evening, as they leaned against a wall under a dim streetlight, Jay passed him another cigarette.

“Told ya, lad,” Jay said with a smirk. “This is where you belong.”

Martin lit the cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke as he nodded. His gold chain glinted in the light, and his buzzed head shone faintly. “Yeah,” he said with a cocky grin. “You were right, mate.”

The transformation was complete. The quiet, bookish Martin was no more. In his place stood a confident scally lad, unbothered and unapologetic.

[the-manlover]

"Hey bro! You never heard of Pig Out? Well, it's newest night club around here and soon it will be the talk of the town! It's not a normal night club, it's an experience... a life-changing experience! It's indescribable, bro. Just get in and pig out! But be careful, once the pig is out, it might be hard to put it back in, but by then you probably don't want to.

So what are you waiting for? Grab a cigar and enter. You don't smoke? Well, soon you will. It's all part of the experience, haha!"

[the-manlover]

Dude, he was super into his werenerds weekends. Best way to, like, get a taste of his bros without catchin' any heat, ya know?

[the-manlover]

[the-manlover]

[the-manlover]

Posted by Soxboi found on Deviantart

[the-manlover]

Young, in love, and dancing the night away. Nothing could get in their gay way, or so they thought. As we all well know, alcohol can make the unlikely easily possible.

Later that same night, after both getting utterly shitfaced, they ended up bringing a woman home and fucked her till there wasn't an ounce of cum left in their low-hanging nuts.

The next morning, the afterglow was gone, and embarrassment stood alone. They just wanted to forget about it, but unfortunately couldn't. After experiencing what it's like to use their cocks correctly, they couldn't get it up for each other anymore. They tried and tried, but their gay sex life was over.

With heavy hearts, they reluctantly gave in to their new hetero cocks and broke up. They never had sex with another man for the rest of their lives, but had plenty of fantastic sex with women.

[the-manlover]

Big Booty Troubles

I lie on my bed, dead tired after a freakin' long-ass day out with my bestie, Heather. She made me follow her around shopping all day. It was exhausting, but that’s what she expects of her GBF. Ugh. I just need to blow off some steam.

I grab my phone and open Grindr, hoping for some action to take my mind off things. And then, boom! I see this fine-ass top. He’s 6’3, built and has a cock print that could make your mouth water. He’s my ultimate dream guy. So naturally, I tap him… but I get no response. Okay, I’ll just DM him then.

I’m not gonna lie, my heart starts racing as I type out a message, my fingers tappin' away like crazy. I hit send and wait, anticipation building up. But guess what? He rejects me.

“Hey bro. Not really interested in skinny guys. I’m in the mood for a big booty tonight. So, I thought I’d just let you know so you can try find someone else. Good luck out there bro!”

Seriously? What a blow to my damn ego. Asshole.

I chuck my phone on the bed in frustration, feeling all sorts of annoyed. All I can imagine is this hunk buried deep inside some twink with a fat ass. It’s not my fault I’m naturally skinny! I can barely pack on weight, let alone build a bubble butt. Whatever. His loss. I can’t help but feel like shit about it though.

“I wish I had a stupid big butt. Then, everyone would just be throwing themselves at me.”

A tingling sensation begins to ripple through my backside, growing stronger with each passing moment. At first, I ignore it, thinking it's just my mind playing tricks on me. But damn, this sensation ain't lettin' up.

Suddenly, a surge of dizziness sweeps over me, leaving me disoriented and a little bit freaked out. I clench my cheeks, unsure of what's happening down there. And then, without warning, it happens—a loud and thunderous fart escapes from my butt, echoing through the room like a trumpet of embarrassment.

I freeze, my face turning fifty shades of crimson as the pungent stench fills the air. Holy crap, did that really just happen? I didn’t even feel it coming, and I sure as hell didn't expect it to be that loud or, let's be honest, that smelly. I mean, WOOF. It smells like hot shit.

As the pungent odor continues to assail my senses, I stumble over to the mirror in a desperate attempt to escape the hot stinky cloud. But something feels off. I stumble side to side, feeling a new heaviness in my body that I’d never experienced before. What the hell is happening to me?

I gaze at my reflection, and my eyes widen in disbelief. Who the hell is this guy staring back at me? Where the hell did my twink face go?! My jawline is crazy angular now. It looks like the face of a chiselled Greek God or some shit. It looks like the face of a smelly jock - the ones that used to bully me but were so hot that I would still secretly beat my meat to them at night. I hate to admit it, but damn, I look kinda hot. And what's up with my hair? I'm hiding a damn mullet under this backward cap that definitely wasn't there before. Wait… where the fuck did the cap even come from? Fuck, I can feel the tingling building up in my butt cheeks again.

But wait, there's more. I scrutinise my upper lip, and that's when I notice it—a thin, pathetic excuse for a moustache. It's like the hair gods played a cruel trick on me, gracing me with this adolescent patch of fuzz. It's a face catastrophe, and I can't help but cringe at the sight.

What the actual hell is going on? This can’t be real. I must have fallen asleep or something. There’s no way I just suddenly have this alpha face, and this unwanted fashion statement on my upper lip. Is this really happening-

PFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Fuck! Not another one of those thunderous booty bombs! I swear my butt has gone rogue on me. It's like a freakin' symphony of stink, and I'm the unwilling conductor. I block my nose, my hands rubbing off my embarrassing facial hair - if you could even call it that.

I feel the tingling begin to build up again. I clutch my backside, feeling my cheeks with my fingers. My butt feels more pillowy than usual. It feels like I’m pressing into a soft cushion.

PFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

As another earth-shattering toot escapes my butt cheeks, I feel an indescribable smell fill my nose. Suddenly, everything around me seems to shrink. I look down, expecting to see my regular-sized body, but what I see is freakin' mind-blowing.

I'm towering at a whopping 6'3! SIX-THREE, DUDE! I can't even process it. It's like I've entered some bizarro fun house mirror. My heart is pounding in my chest as I stumble back in shock, my backside pushing my books off my desk and onto the floor.

And as if that wasn't enough, my vocabulary takes a wild turn. Bro, dude, and all these broey words start spewing out of my mouth without me even realising it. It's like my brain got an instant makeover, replacing my regular speech with some mindless jock dialect.

But the freakshow doesn't stop there. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and my jaw drops. Literally. I look down at my feet. They're massive, bro. Like, Hulk-sized. My socks are struggling to contain these beasts, and I can practically hear them scream in agony as my feet outgrow them in seconds. It's like my whole body is inflating with muscles. I feel so heavy, bro.

I stumble towards my bed. I can't help but notice a peculiar sensation with each step. It's like there's an earthquake happening in my backside, but it's not the ground shaking—it's my butt. With every movement, there's this undeniable water balloon-like jiggle, a bouncing sensation that feels both foreign and embarrassing.

I can't resist the urge to glance behind me. What I see nearly makes me scream. MY CHEEKS! THEY’RE MASSIVE! My once non-existent butt cheeks were now two colossal mounds of flesh, defying the laws of gravity with their mesmerising jiggle.

“What the fuck, dude?!”

They jiggle wildly, emitting a loud clapping sound that turns my face red. They're so massive that I could probably set a whole platter of snacks on them. It's absolutely humiliating. Each step I take, those ginormous fat juicy cheeks perform a wild dance, drawing unwanted attention and making me feel like a total fool.

I try to convince myself that it's just a dream, that any second I'll wake up and find myself back in my regular, non-jiggly butt reality. But no such luck, bro. This is my new normal, my big-booty existence.

Suddenly, my phone dings on the bed. It’s vibrating and lighting up like a disco ball. It's blowing up with notifications. Maybe it’s Heather! Maybe she can help me! She’ll know what to do. All I gotta do is text Heather.

With a wobbly jiggle in my step, I make my way over to the phone. It feels like I'm a walking marshmallow, bro, but I manage to reach my destination. I look down at my colossal gorilla hands and I pick up the phone. The once familiar device now feels like a tiny toy in my massive paws.

As I unlock the screen, I see a series of Snapchats from various women. Their names are accompanied by heart emojis. Who the hell are these people? Confusion swirls in my mind. Doesn’t matter. I need to text Heather.

Struggling to adjust to my new thick thumbs, my new hefty finger accidentally clicks on one of the Snapchats. Oh, no. What have I done, bro? The screen fills with an image of a woman bouncing her double Ds, her eyes sparkling and dick sucking lips pouting. I can’t stop staring at her bouncing boobs, bro. Why can’t I look away from her fuckable tits, dude? Wait… am I hard?

The snap ends, my screen opening up onto a menu filled with the countless other messages from various other girls. I instinctually tap on another, my boner pressing against my tracksuit. FUCK. Those tits bro. I need to see her pussy. WHAT? NO! What the hell is happening, bro?! My brain. I don’t think like this.

I get lost in another girl’s bouncing tits. I can’t… stop staring. Don’t sexualise… women are sacred… and need to be… bred and impregnanted… with my seed.

I feel the tingling sensation return but this time, instead of my cheeks, it surrounds my asshole. I can feel the sensation growing stronger, as my hole tightens, never to be penetrated ever again. No matter how hard anyone tries. This dumpy will always just be a pooper. Nothing else, bro.

“Need to text, Heather.” I groaned, trying to tear my eyes away from the women exposing themselves to me on the screen. “Don’t need to breed.”

I repeat the words again. This time more muddled. I repeat it again and again, until I eventually lose myself in the bouncing boobies. I repeat the muddled phrase, one final time. However, this time, it’s slightly different.

“Don’t need to text, Heather. Need to breed.”

As the breedable girl gave me her titties one final big bounce, I sprayed my alpha load onto my old nerdy Goku bed sheets.

Fuck, I wasted a thick load, bro. Next time, I’ll make sure to spray it up Heather’s tight pussy. No way she’s walkin away from that without my child in her stomach. Damn, I’m getting hard just thinking about it.

[the-manlover]

I like my doms arrogant...

[the-manlover]

[the-manlover]

[the-manlover]

[the-manlover]

[the-manlover]

[the-manlover]