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God he felt like a fool What the hell was he doing here. Jack stood at the door to the apartment shaking his head, unable to actually open the door and go on inside. He had heard about this party from a friend over the internet.
After trolling the net for a number of years, he had bumped into an interesting group of guys on a web site that was devoted to semi-erotic stories about guys changing into something different. Sometimes it was an inanimate object, other times it was a change in sex or a werewolf type change. But for Jack, the hottest things he read had to do with guys changing into other guys; taking on their physical characteristics and traits.
Thinking about it, in the same heart beat, made Jack feel incredibly aroused and incredibly foolish. Why did he want to be someone else? It was a question that he asked himself over and over. What was so wrong with who he was and what he looked like? Many guys would kill to be him; why was he so unsatisfied with what he saw in the mirror. Jack was the typical All-American male. In his late 20's, Jack was, as he often thought of it, cursed with a jock's body. Five foot 11, 190 pounds, he wasn't cut like a professional body builder, but he did have well proportioned muscles and very little fat on his torso.
He had played sports in both high school and college; everything from football to swimming. And he was reasonably good at what he played. However, he never took working out or practicing very seriously. He couldn't even begin to count the number of times that his various coaches would give him the "Jack, why do you squander your talents? You work out twice a week and get the same results as someone who lives in the gym. Aren't you curious what you could do if you really applied yourself" speech. Yeah, yeah, yeah....if they only knew. This isn't how Jack ever felt he was supposed to be.
The guys that Jack always felt looked like real men were the well fed variety. Very well fed. As a kid growing up in the 70's, he used to lie in bed at night with pillows in his PJs, dreaming of Boss Hogg from the "Dukes of Hazard" and William Conrad from "Cannon". Guys with their stomachs sticking 16 inches in front of them, and their ass 16 inches behind were those that got his attention. He wasn't really interested in the "bear" variety from the gym that works about five days a week, but drinks beer like water, and thus has a killer gut. Nope, the guys that were the hottest to Jack were the older ones that had a hard time finding their own dicks because they were encased in fat and probably had never seen the inside of a gym.
So it was with great joy that Jack had found this group of individuals on the net. Perhaps he wasn't all alone in this area as he thought. He had been exchanging emails, stories and pictures with guys on the net for about six months when the topic of tonight's party came up. Jack was shocked when he learned that it was actually taking place in his home city. What are the odds of that? Most everything seems to take place on the opposite end of country from him. Some of his Internet buddies were actually planning on flying in for the event and were pressuring him to attend.
Attend!?! You mean be in a place with other guys all taking bout changing into someone different, let alone being around the nut cases that were actually billing this event as having actual transformations taking place Shit, he didn't think he had the courage to do that.
All of his communications with people regarding the subject were via the keyboard. He didn't even know if he would be able to vocalize any of his deep down wishes and desires. There were days when he would be driving alone, and he would attempt to have an imaginary conversation with someone where he confessed his secret desire to be someone like Orson Wells from his "later days". He would find himself whispering it; even though he was totally alone! Man, he was a total head case.
So it was a bit shocking that he now found himself at the door to the mysterious apartment. He could hear people taking inside. Music was playing, but it wasn't terribly loud; it sounded like a typical Friday night party with friends. And here he was paralyzed to go in.So it was a bit shocking that he now found himself at the door to the mysterious apartment. He could hear people taking inside. Music was playing, but it wasn't terribly loud; it sounded like a typical Friday night party with friends. And here he was paralyzed to go in.
"Are you going in?" said a gentle voice from behind him. While Jack had been fighting his mental war at the door, two other guys had come up from behind him, towards the door. Jack turned, startled. "Uhhhh" was all he was able to get out.
Jack was partly surprised by the appearance of the two guys who had come up behind him. 100% normal. They could be bankers, doctors, sales clerks, mechanics, anything. He wasn't sure what he had expected.
The two gentlemen laughed at the clearly confused, anxious look on Jack's face. "Its not a big deal," said one of the guys. "Go on in and have a look around. No ones gonna bother you. You're among friends. If you get in, and things don't seem to appeal to you, you're free to leave. No body will give you any crap." The other one chimed in, "If you made it this far, and don't at least go in, you'll hate yourself in the morning."
Fair enough, thought Jack. Walking through a door isn't the end of the world. I'll just go in, do a circuit around the room and take off.
When he walked in, he was surprised at how many guys were inside. Additionally, there were a number of women milling about. No one took notice that he had entered; and he surprisingly didn't feel very out of place. It was all a bit surreal. He almost felt that he was watching a movie of himself walking around a party. After a moment of surveying the entry hall, he slowly walked into what appeared to be a living room, fairly packed with small groups of people, having various conversations. Several people were smoking, and a light haze wafted at the ceiling.
It was then that he thought he smelt something different. Someone's smoking a pipe, he thought. Unusual. You don't see guys smoking pipes with half the frequency you did years ago, let alone at a party like this. Intrigued, Jack surveyed the room for the source of the pipe smoke.
It was then that he eyes fell on Tony.
To say that Tony clearly enjoyed life to it's fullest was an understatement of epic proportions; actually Tony was more or less of epic proportions himself.
Jack's heart skipped about 10 beats when he first saw Tony. Tony was sitting in a leather EZ-Boy recliner...well Tony was actually squeezed into a recliner. Weighing in around 350 pounds, Tony more than filled out his 5 ft 4 in frame. And he wasn't one of those muscled-up, but bellied out dudes, either. The only muscle of Tony's that was well worked out was his stomach. As he sat there, looking like king Louis XV in his court; his round gut sat on his thighs, reaching about the 3/4 mark to his knees. Actually, perhaps that wasn't really his gut after all. The fat in his torso didn't form a ledge at the belt line, but instead, continued down to his upper thighs. His "apron" and his gut formed one continuous line of bulk. Just where in that mass was his penis was anyone's guess.
His arms rest at his sides at about forty-five degrees, with his hands clamped together around his belly. The fingers that were slowly making small circles around his gut looked like little sausages.
Tony wore a beard that covered up what was probably a wonderful double or triple chin. Cage from "Ally McBeal" would no doubt be in love with that flap of skin. His hair was thinning salt n pepper gray that was styled with a bit of a comb-over. Clamped between his teeth was the pipe that had originally drawn Jacks attention.
He wore a well cut three piece suit that was starting to strain at the buttons. Jack wondered if he had partaken in a feast before the party. His vest rode up on his gut to reveal a good two inches of the white shirt that was pinned between his skin and his pants. And from there he could tell that he was wearing suspenders. Perfect. Every beautifully fat guy needs a nice pair of suspenders thought Jack.
Jack stood there paralyzed at the vision he saw before him. A big overstuffed hotty, squeezed into a big overstuffed chair. Tony appeared totally relaxed, smoking his pipe, absent mindedly rubbing his stomach, and chatting with companions. Jack couldn't quite make out the conversation amongst the background hum of the party, but Tony sounded as though he had a pretty deep voice with a touch of a southern accent. Jack just prayed to God that the pants he had on were loose enough to hide the painfully raging erection he was now sporting.
How long could he stand there staring? Surly he was making an ass out of himself. He could only imagine how obvious it looked to those around. He tried to play it cool by pretending to be surveying the whole room, almost uninterested in the whole thing. Once he even dared himself to catch Tony's eyes and hold the look for a second with a polite smile.
Jack was convinced Tony had a fantastic ass as well, but, it was well hid in the chair. Perhaps if he went out into the hallway and pulled the fire alarm, Tony would have to get up and give Jack the show that he so desperately wanted. He giggled at the thought.
And then he immediately stopped giggling and was paralyzed with fear as Tony quietly laughed to his friends, stood up and started walking right towards Jack.
Tony seemed to have laser beams for eyes. At least that's how it appeared to Jack. Shit, he must not have been quite as suave as he thought. Tony must have seen right through him to the secret desire that was ready to explode in Jack's chest. What would he say? Would he be able to come clean?
Wait, Tony wasn't looking at Jack, he actually appeared to be looking beyond Jack to something farther off. Tony was going to walk right past Jack and not say a word. In an instant, Jack's fear of Tony talking to him flip-flopped into almost an anger that it appeared that Tony WASN'T going to talk to him. He had to do something...but what?
Just as Tony was stepping past him, Jack stepped in just enough so that Tony's side brushed Jack's hip.
"Good work", thought Jack. "You caught a big one...now what do you do with it???"
"Oh! Pardon me" Tony spoke, as wisps of smoke exited his mouth. "Sometimes I forget just how much clearance I need." Tony laughed good naturedly at this line. Jack smiled, and tried not to look like an ass; he was relatively sure that the "Cat that ate the Canary" expression applied at the moment.
"No problem. It was probably me. I was a little lost in thought and didn't notice you." Answered Jack.
Tony's eyebrow raised at this line. "Didn't notice me? Not a phenomena I'm accustomed to, young man. Most can see me comin' a country mile away. HA!"
Jack continued to laugh politely, desperately trying to come up with a line of dialog to keep the conversation running. The pause gave Tony an opportunity to size Jack up.
This one was a hottie, thought Tony. Jack held himself very well. With his broad shoulders and hard pecks, Jack looked good enough to eat to Tony. Actually, to Tony, everything looked good enough to eat. Jack wasn't one of those muscular, super-cut gym dudes that always made you wonder if a chunk of their size was "scientifically induced". Nope, Jack, was well developed, but it looked natural on him; almost like he took it for granted. His thick black hair was cut short and combed straight back; again with an appearance of nonchalant-ness. This kid seemed to have strength and youth oozing out of his pores. Tony found himself a tad jealous of Jack's traits. It seemed like a lifetime ago that Tony had youth; and he perhaps never had strength, and certainly not on the level that this kid had. Just the way he held himself. His body moved gracefully and with such little effort. And almost every physical exertion was an effort and a challenge to Tony. Tony bet that Jack's ass was hard and tight. Perhaps he could get him to turn around and give him a little show. And those hands! They appeared big and strong, with calluses from manual labor. A far cry from Tony's soft, sausage fingers. You know what they say about big hands; and with that thought, Tony's eyes glimpsed at Jack's groin. WHOA! The young man is fairly gifted there as well and seems to hard and ready to go. Tony began to speculate what it was that had Jack so horned up.
Tony decided to break the silence. "I don't believe we've been formally introduced. I'm Tony", placing his pipe back into his mouth, and extending his right hand. Jack didn't waste a second and reached out to shake Tony's hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Jack." Jack's face flushed when they touched. A detail not lost on Tony.
"I don't believe I've seen you at one of these events before," questioned Tony.
Jack was caught off guard. "Ah, no...this is...well, a friend..."
Nervous...flushed...interesting...what was with this cutie?
Jack appeared to be drowning trying to come up with something to say, so Tony decided to throw the young buck a lifeline. "I'm always amazed at the diverse group of people that attend events like this. Like you for example. You're quite the looker, Mr. GQ."
"Oh please," countered Jack with a smile. "You're quite the looker yourself." Fuck! What the hell kind of line was that?!?! God why did he open his mouth!
Tony's eyebrows raised a second time. Interesting statement, he thought. And Jack appeared to be flushing again. Ok, something was defiantly going on here.
"Oh yes, I do declare," and with his pipe clenched between his teeth, and a trail of smoke exiting the corner of his mouth, Tony reached out with one hand and rubbed Jack's flat stomach, and rubbed his own well fed expanse with his other; "we are two peas in a pod aren't we!" Tony started laughing loudly.
The feeling of Tony rubbing his stomach, was like lighting to Jack. He placed his right hand over Tony's hand that was on his stomach and held it there for a moment while the two of them laughed. Jack desperately wanted to reach out to Tony's gut and grasp the glorious mound before him, but, he was terrified that it was just to bold of a move.
"Well," Tony managed to get out after the laughing had subsided, "I was on my way to get a drink. Would you care to join me?"
Jack followed two steps behind Tony into the kitchen. Actually, Jack wished it was no steps behind. He wanted desperately to grab Tony from behind, plant his pelvis firmly in Tony's wide ass and rub Tony's gut with his hands.
The kitchen was large with about 20 people huddled into small groups of threes and fours talking quietly. No one seemed to take note of Tony and Jack entering the room. Jack just hoped he didn't look too much like a puppy dog trailing along behind Tony.
At the center of the room was a large elaborate punch bowl. The bowl had images of old Greek theatre masks around it. You've seen them...images of faces in different extreme emotions...laughing, crying, angry, smiling. In the bowl was some strange green looking punch. It appeared that they were using dry-ice chips to keep cold, given the way a strange misty fog spitting out of the bowl.
Tony pored two glasses of punch and handed one to Jack.
"Here's to your health," Tony toasted.
"And to new friends", Jack replied.
Tony smiled and they both took a big slug of the punch. Strange stuff, thought Jack. It was kind of viscous like Baily's Irish Cream. More like a strange liquor, than a punch. The taste was also funny. All in one gulp, it seemed to be sweet and sour, spicy and minty. Hummm....good, but weird, thought Jack. I wonder if it packs much of a kick, he pondered.
He and Tony continued to linger in the kitchen drinking the punch. Jack was infatuated by Tony and starting to feel pretty groovy from the drink. About five minutes of general chit chat occurs between Tony and Jack with conversation ranging from Clinton and Monica to the Sox, and then Jack started to feel slight cramps in his abdomen. What was in this drink? It certainly tasted good enough, but it was landing like a brick in his stomach. The cramps continued for a moment; nothing too uncomfortable, but Jack decided that perhaps a run to the bathroom would ease the pressure on his bladder.
"Excuse me, I just have to hit the head. Do you know where it is?"
Tony used his pipe as an extension of his hand, pointing it down the hallway. "Second door on the left. Hurry back now" Tony ordered with a grin.
Jack made his way out of the crowded kitchen down the hall. Much quieter down here. Everyone seemed to be congregating around that crazy punch bowl.
Jack slipped into the bathroom and marveled at its size. It was easily as big as his bedroom back at his apartment. And to add to the illusion of size, one large section of the far wall was mirrored. Funny. It's going to be like going to the bathroom with someone else, thought Jack.
Jack unzipped and stood at the toilet to pee. He figured this was a "number one" situation. He was surprised at how much urine he had inside him. He felt like he was peeing like a race horse. And apparently he was VERY dehydrated as well. Instead of his traditional clear colored urine, he was peeing dark yellow; actually it was almost green in color. That's strange, thought Jack. Oh, well, its not blood, so how bad could it be?
He finished up peeing and shook off "Little Jack" and started stuffing him back into his pants. He was semi-erect from Tony's presence in the other room so had to work to zip back up his crotch. Actually, he had to really work at it. His dick and balls didn't seem to have much space to work with in his pants. He wiggled for a few seconds, and then gave up and just unbuttoned his pants so he could adjust himself that way.
Phewwww. The act of unbuttoning his pants alerted Jack to the fact that the waste band of his khakis had started to dig into his side and stomach. He let out a deep exhale once the button had popped open. Funny, he didn't notice that these had shrunk when he put them on a few minutes ago. He wiggled his dick and scrotum into position and hiked back up his pants.
DAMN these things were tight! He took a deep breath and forced his pants closed. He had visions of Ross from "Friends" in the episode where he can't get back on his leather pants because he has sweated so much. Jack wondered if this was a similar situation? He could see leather pants behaving like that, but cotton khakis? Strange.
He walked over to the sink and started to wash his hands. While washing his hands his left index finger started to cramp. His college ring was on that finger and was sized such that it slid on and off his finger relatively easy. But at the moment, the ring felt like it was digging into his skin. He tried to get it off but no good. After a few seconds of soaping it up, it finally slid off like a greased pig. Instantly, the cramping in his finger was gone.
He figured the humidity of the past few days had made his hands swell a little bit. Yeah, that must be it.
He wiggled his hand into his very tight front pant pocket to deposit the ring there until he got home.
Feeling better, if not a bit tight in his pants, he turned to leave the bathroom. He caught a glimpse of himself in the large mirror along the wall. He was surprised to see what a mess he looked like. His hair was a bit disheveled and he looked like he hadn't shaved in two days. Additionally, his shirt was partly untucked and his pants really looked strange. Instead of the normal crease up each leg, the pants were pulled somewhat taught across each of this thighs. He felt a slight waive of dizziness as he examined himself in the mirror. "Lightweight" he thought to himself. Actually, he didn't know what was in that drink; who knows, maybe it was some fucked up grain alcohol; so he really couldn't blame himself for feeling a bit drunk.
He stepped closer to the mirror and ran his hand across his forehead and down his face. "Dude, you're a mess," he said to his reflection.
He ran his hand through his hair to straighten it out, and then started working on straightening out his shirt. It was a challenge tucking it in to his pants. As he ran his hand down along his torso his jaw dropped at what he found.
His hand went slowly down his front, smoothing out his shirt from his pecks down to his waist. All was fine up top, but at the bottom, WHOA, his hand went around the outline of a serious beer gut. He could actually cup the damn thing in his hands. What the fuck was going on? The damn thing was so pronounced that it was actually obscuring the belt immediately in front of him from his vision. He continued to explore his new found gut with his hands. He felt like a woman who had awoken from a coma to discover she was 7 months pregnant.
He turned to look at his profile in the mirror. Holy fuck! He had a gut and a half. What the hell was going on? He tried to think clear but the alcohol was making that difficult. All he knew was that he seemed somewhat paralyzed staring at the reflection of himself cupping a respectable beer gut.
Time didn't have any meaning to Jack at the moment, all he knew was that the sensation of his own hands making slow circles across his gut was a sensation that was almost better than an orgasm. He just kept rubbing it slowly in circles. He was alternating from staring at his reflection and staring down at the protrusion in front of him. His mind was racing back and forth from thoughts of "shit, what the hell am I going to do" to "oh, God that feels good."
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