The Night Before Christmas

The Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse... you were all alone for the holidays. While your friends managed to get home and were with their families or decided to spend the night partying until sunrise, you were stuck alone at home. This wasn't your plan for this year. Your stupid boss wouldn't let you take off the day before, so you had to work on Christmas Eve. You had planned on flying back home to your family after work had finished, but a surprise snowstorm canceled your flight back home, and you had no way of getting there. While your parents were obviously upset that you wouldn’t be joining them, they couldn’t be angry at you, because it wasn’t your fault. You couldn't control the weather. 

Trying to find something to keep you occupied, you had spent the evening baking cookies for Santa Claus. Obviously, you were old enough to understand that Santa didn’t exist, but you had baked cookies for him every year with your mother since you were a kid, and Christmas Eve would feel incomplete without the smell of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies. However, once the baking was done and the kitchen was cleaned, the silence that filled your house was deafening.

Placing the tray of cookies and a cold glass of milk by the fireplace, you poured yourself a large glass of eggnog and headed into your bedroom to put on a Christmas movie on your laptop. Maybe watching other people in the festive spirit will bring you some joy. Scrolling through all of the streaming services you had, you were unsatisfied with the array of films. You had seemingly seen everything. Finally, you stumbled upon that old 90s movie with Tim Allen, The Santa Clause. The idea of this toy salesman turning into Santa and learning the true meaning of Christmas was so insane! But nonetheless, you remember liking the movie when you watched it many years ago, so you decided to press play. As the movie played, you continued to drink your eggnog. Eventually, you finished your first glass and went back to get a second. With every sip of the eggnog, you found yourself becoming more and more relaxed. The movie was funny enough, but you found your eyes gradually getting heavier. Slowly, everything faded to black.

Cough cough 

You awoke suddenly to the sound of coughing. You jolted upwards. Your laptop was still warm on your legs, and the movie was still playing; it was only halfway finished. Throwing your computer off to the side, you hurriedly stumbled out of bed to see what was happening. As you turned the corner, you saw it. There, standing in your living room, was some fat old guy dressed as Santa Claus. In one hand was one of the cookies you had baked earlier, and the other was clawing at his throat. His cough had stopped, but he was still gasping for air. He was choking. Before you had time to react, his knees gave out and he stumbled backward, landing on the floor. His massive body shook the house, and then, everything was still. It was silent. He wasn’t moving. Stepping forward and raising your foot, you tried to nudge him, to see if he was still alive. Instead of meeting his leg, your foot seemed to move right through him, instead catching the fabric of his red suit. Before your very eyes, this dead man who had broken into your house seemingly dissolved into thin air. All that was left of him was the half-eaten cookie and his outfit.

You had to call the police. A man had just broken into your house. Running to your counter and grabbing your cell phone, you raced to the front door to see that it was locked. Running to the side windows, you saw that they were… locked. Walking to the back door, sure enough, it was locked too. Looking at your alarm system, you saw that it was armed. How did this guy get into your house? You put your phone down. Walking back into your living room, you stepped over the red suit and stuck your hand up the chimney. Sure enough, the flue was open. Oh my god. Did the real Santa Claus just choke on your cookies?

Now what? You definitely can’t call the police. They wouldn’t believe you that Santa just died in your room and his body vanished. Sure, you were a little tipsy from the eggnog, but knew what you saw. No one would believe you, still. Hell, you wouldn’t have believed yourself! It sounded like something directly out of a Christmas movie.

You paused. Like something out of a Christmas movie. Looking down at the outfit the fat old man had just been wearing, you thought back to the movie you were watching. It could have been the eggnog talking, but why couldn’t you just try his clothes on? I mean what was there to lose? It’s not like there was actually a dead person in your living room; only his clothes.

Looking at his hat, that had once been on his head, you picked it up and placed it onto your coffee table. You sat on your couch to deliberate what your next course of action should be: call the police or try on Santa’s clothes. Staring at this hat and looking beyond at the full outfit which lay strewn on the floor, you made up your mind. If nothing else, maybe this will put you in a festive mood.

Standing up and placing the hat on your head, you instantly were overcome by an intense gurgling in your stomach. You felt so incredibly bloated. You rubbed your hands on your stomach, only to feel it rapidly expanding outwards in front of you. Bringing your hands to your chest, you felt it sag as your pecs grew into mounds of fat drooping from your torso.

Your ass grew enormous, stretching the fabric of your pants and tearing the seams. Falling backward onto your couch, you heard as the legs buckled under your growing weight. Your thighs splayed further and further outward, ripping your pants and pushing your legs farther and farther apart. Your fingers swelled into large sausages and your feet grew massive. 

The hair across your body lightened to a gray, before becoming as white as snow. Your upper lip itched as white hairs pushed their way out, growing long and meeting up with the hairs forcing their way from your chin. Soon, you sported a large, white, bushy beard. Wrinkles began etching their way across your face and body as you aged rapidly. Standing up from the couch, you stumbled as your center of gravity changed with your massive weight gain. Slowly, you managed to bring your body to the clothes of the former Santa Claus. Reaching down and grabbing the fabric, you pulled your blubberous legs through the velvet pants, shoving your giant feet into the brown leather boots. You lifted the heavy suit jacket over your shoulders and massive beach-ball stomach, before adorning it with a buckled belt. You brought your massive fingers into the white gloves and lifted his glasses onto your face.

You looked exactly like him. You were the spitting image of Santa Claus. Looking at the tray of cookies that you had baked earlier and the big guy had just choked on, you decided it’d be best to pass on the cookies tonight. Instead, you turned towards the chimney, ready to get back to your sleigh and deliver the rest of the presents before sunrise. Bringing festive cheer and joy to the world was enough to make an old man like you laugh gaily with glee:

Ho, Ho, Ho!

Wow! I’m so incredibly grateful for my early Christmas present. I woke up this morning to see that I had passed 1,000 followers!

I started this blog 3 months ago to write some transformation stories that I wanted to read, involving men and photos that I was attracted to. I’m so humbled that over 1,000 people read my little page of writing and decided that they wanted to see more. I plan on writing semi-consistently as I continue to find inspiration in anything I see!

Thank you all again for supporting me as I explore this creative outlet.

Slobify me. I’m no coward.

Your wish is my command.

Lets start small, first of all we'll turn you into a nice cocky jock. Something to make your profile picture more suiting. Lean mass, a perfect cut six pack and exuding confidence.

I would have stopped there but you didn't want to take the risk you said "Slobify me" so I'll do exactly that. Guess that is a lot more than confidence exuding from you.

Sexy and sweating like a pig, for some I might say sweating non stop is enough to be a slob but because you seemed so confident to be one I'll go the extra mile for you.

Lets really muscle you up, we need more mass to work with, can't just have some fitness model type body dealing with all the curses you wished for. Whilst I'm at it I think some hair is in order. I haven't given any blokes hair in a while so your body will have to make up for that.

There we go, looking more like my type of guy. Huge muscles, insane strength. That sweat sticking to each strand of hair and finding it impossible to leave your body, B.O becoming worse with every second and becoming more of a permanent stench. But I dunno, you seem to be digging it and still seem pretty confident, well since you love it so much why don't we give you even more mass and some habits to work with. There is a problem though, your body can't put on any more muscle, but you wanted it so you got it.

UUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRP

oh boy that stunk like stale protein and cake mate. You're still a big burly bodybuilder, just one who took the bulk too far. We still aint done buddy. You so desperately wanted to be "slobified" so there is no turning back now. That means more hair and more stink. You'll now be coated in so much B.O you'll wanna hold your nose, hell your eyes will water up from it mate. Alright you giant hairy bulk head lets take a look at you now.

A massive beard and coated in hair, perfect for what comes next. Because you are now such a slob I hope you'll warm up to your habits quick. Things like spilling your protein shake all in your beard and down that muscled gut of yours. Things like never doing laundry again so all your clothes are coated in sweat, cum and protein stains. You'll find food and shakes permanently stuck in that beard of yours, shoving a protein bar in your face whenever you feel even the slightest itch of hunger, and you'll find most of those wrappers stuck to you, forgetting to peel them off for a few hours at a time. Just try not to sit on any mate because you'll find it near impossible to get those big arms back far enough to peel it off your ass.

But I still don't think we're done, in fact I think you still want more. So here ya go, every day you’ll get slightly bigger, slightly taller, slightly more mass, until you become 900 pounds of mass. Your sweat and stench will soak into your furniture but not only that over the next week as you grow bigger your furniture will break under you, first it’ll be your chairs, then your couch and of course your bed. Soon your house will be filled with sweaty wet stinking broken furniture.

Hope this is enough for you mate, if you want more or less just let me know and Ill give you more,

Enjoy being an enormous lumbering beefy slob mate.

It's All In The Hair

<<Thanks @transformation-fan for the suggestion. This was a fun one!>>

After a long day at work, you had finally begun the long drive home in your beat-up sedan. Working a fifteen-hour shift at the gas station was hard, but it was the only job you could find willing to hire you. The forty-five-minute drive home was usually pretty relaxing. Standing at the counter all day meant your legs were aching by the end of the day. The fatigue set in as you continued your drive through the suburbs and back into the city.

Arriving at your apartment, you found the nearest curb and parked your car. This wasn't a great neighborhood, but you never really worried about someone breaking into your car, because it was so beat up that it almost looked abandoned. It was your ride to work though, so you nonetheless locked it tight and hid anything in the seats in the glove compartment and center console. Satisfied, you turned and keyed into your building. Walking up the three flights of stairs, you fumbled around in the dark trying to find the other key to your apartment. The bulb in the hallway had long since burned out, and the landlord refuses to pay for another bulb. Finally feeling the teeth of the key, you poked it around blindly until it found its home in your doorknob. Twisting the key and pushing, the door flung open into your pigsty of an apartment. Pizza boxes and dirty clothes littered the floor. You worked so many hours a day that you never had time to clean up after yourself.

Throwing your keys onto the counter, you checked in the fridge to see if you had any leftovers. There were some Chinese take-out boxes that were probably still good. As you reached your arm into the fridge, you got a whiff of your body odor. Your face squinched in disgust. Although your apartment was a mess, you hated to be dirty yourself. Working at the gas station, you often came home reeking of gasoline, but today was especially hot outside, and you must've sweat through your deodorant and then some. It was time for a shower.

Stepping over the piles of clothes, you headed towards the bathroom. Peeling off your sweat-filled shirt, you twisted the handle of your shower bath. It would take a few minutes for the water to heat up. Pulling down your jeans, you stared in the mirror at yourself. God, there was so little of you. Your diet of pizza gave you a round paunch, but absolutely nothing else. You were a hairless cat with a gut. Rubbing your smooth chest, you began to wonder what it would be like to have luscious hair. The kind that people would want to run their fingers through. Maybe some muscles? Anything would be better. Sighing to yourself, and deciding that maybe next year you would start working out, you stepped over and into the shower.

The water was lukewarm, you hadn't given it quite enough time to become scalding hot. Underneath the stream of water, you began rubbing your hair. It was short enough that you didn't need to worry too much about styling or combing it, just wash it every now and again. With your face turned upwards towards the waterfall washing down over you, you reached your arm out to grab your shampoo. Fumbling about, you felt the bottle with the top of your hand, and it slipped, crashing towards your feet with a loud thud. The sound startled you, and you flinched causing you to tumble backward. The curvature of the bath allowed you to slide for part of the fall, but you still landed on your back.

Startled more than injured, you sat for a moment, astounded at what an idiot you were. Cursing to yourself, you pulled yourself into a sitting position. Finally finding the shampoo bottle, you pulled it toward you to open it, but it looked different. The generic logo on the front was gone. In fact, the bottle had no logo, no words, no anything. Assuming you had just ripped off the label some other night, you opened the cap to pour it into your hand. Immediately, you knew this was not your shampoo. The smell was divine. It was indescribable. You were going to enjoy this shampoo.

Pulling the drain closed and flipping the faucet, you started filling the bath. Luxury. You poured more shampoo into your hand before lathering it around your hair. Keeping your eyes closed to prevent the suds from getting in your eyes, you felt a strange, but pleasurable sensation. Your head was warm and fuzzy. God this shampoo was incredible. With each rub of your hands, your hair grew longer and longer and thicker and thicker. The suds dripped down over your face as you continued to massage your head and growing hair. Your eyebrows thickened, becoming sharp and defined. Dense stubble pushed its way out of your upper lip and around your jawline. The shampoo dripped down your arms, still raised towards your head. Dark hairs sprouted from your thickening forearms and bulging biceps, and your exposed armpits grew forests of thick brown hair. Dripping down your chest, the shampoo caused a forest of curled chest hair to shoot from your growing chest. Two lean pecs pushed from your chest, with a new pelt of hair adorning them. Your navel sprouted a thick treasure trail as the shampoo pushed your gut inward and traced the lines of your new abs. Finally, the shampoo reached the water line, mixing into the water and causing the surface to become sudsy and foamy. Dark hairs grew on top of your feet as they stretch along the floor of the bath. Your calves and thighs bulged with muscle as the dark curly hair swirled around. You felt your stomach get colder as your ass swelled, pushing you ever-so-slightly further out of the water. The hair curled up your thighs and into your ass, tracing underneath you towards your balls. A mass of hair grew above your crotch and around, as your dick stretched further and further away from your body. Still rubbing your shampooed head with one hand, your other hand lowered down into the water and began stroking your new, large dick. Your hand was still slippery with the shampoo, and the pleasure was intense. With each rub of each head, everything felt more and more amazing. With a final rub, you shot your load into the bath water, mixing with the suds.

Rinsing your hands of the shampoo and rubbing your eyes, you opened them. Right in front of you were large hairy legs. Looking down, you were greeted with a still semi-erect throbbing dick covered in hair. The chest below you was thick and had swirls of hairs. What the hell was happening? Trying to stand up, you underestimated the sleekness of the bottom of the tub, and you fell once again, hitting your head, knocking you unconscious, and sinking into the water.

It was dark. Oh my god, were you dead? You couldn't speak. You tried to scream for help but no sound came out. It was strangely warm, were you in hell? Oh my god, you were in hell. What had you done wrong? With one final desperate scream, you jolted upward and found yourself in a hotel room. Scared and confused you turned about, finding that your pillow was wet, and smelled amazing. Of course! You had just taken a bath with your favorite shampoo before the convention. Turning your body off the side of the bed, you saw your large manly legs and chuckled. Throwing on a yellow shirt and some pants, you stared in the mirror at your hair. God, even after taking a nap your iconic hair still looked immaculate. Smirking, you unbuttoned the top of your shirt, displaying a moderate amount of your thick chest hair. That'll surely drive the girls (and the gays) wild for you. You could have anything you want with the wave of your hand. They adored you. You were Joe fucking Keery. The chartered car came and picked you up, dropping you at the convention. On the red carpet, you heard their screams. They loved you. You knew why: it's all in the hair.

An Error Code

Something happened.

My boyfriend Henry and I were playing FIFA on my PS4. We were messing around with creating our own players. There was something so invigorating about making some hot guy play sports for you. They could look however you wanted. Henry made a player who looked like some muscle oaf: beefy, covered in body hair, with some stupid goatee. My player had less body hair, and a sculpted beard, but was still well-muscled. They both were quite hot, to be honest, and looking over at Henry, I noticed that he was chubbing up looking at them. After we had both made our characters, we loaded them into the roster and started the game.

But the game didn’t start. It crashed leaving an error code on that familiar blue screen:

AN ERROR HAS OCCURRED IN THE APPLICATION: CUSTOM CONTENT NOT FOUND, RELOADING PLAYERS

We were left staring at this blue screen and strange error code. Neither of us had seen anything like it. The game began to automatically reboot. I turned to Henry to ask what was wrong with the console but instead saw a large beefy man in his place. His large hairy legs splayed wide on the couch, revealing his thick cock straining against his blue underpants. His hairy chest showed tufts of hair stemming from his neckline and coming from the armholes, which led to his massive muscular arms with thick armpit hair. His bearded face remained fixated on the screen. Looking down at myself, I saw large thick legs leading to a massive bulge in my grey underwear. Scratching my face, I could feel my well-groomed beard. My hand lowered to my giant bulge, rubbing it and moaning with my new deep voice as the game continued to load. The smell of our odor was intoxicating. The sweet, tangy scent of man permeated my nostrils. My dick swelled even further.

I heard the game begin. I pulled my hand off of my massive crotch and grabbed the controller, looking up at the screen through my glasses. It was crazy that Henry and I could make players who looked exactly like us. Seeing my beefy boyfriend's body on the screen running around and getting all sweaty made my dick swell again.

Once I kicked his beefy ass in the game, I knew what I was going to do with that ass right afterward.

I Am Weed

Fuck. You were tired. So tired of being pushed around by everyone at school. You were much shorter than everyone else in your class, and that meant that the taller guys would pick on you. Although you were a freshman in college, your voice still had yet to deepen with puberty. You sounded and looked like a whiny teenager.

You loved music and saw that the school rock band was looking for a new frontman. There was no way they'd ever take you on. You were too short, too whiny, and had no star quality. You were not the rock star that they needed. You wanted to try it anyways. You never know!

To calm your nerves before heading to the band, you had bought some weed from Chuck down the hall from you. You had never smoked before, but Chuck told you it was strong and would make you feel much better. He even rolled it up for you, so that all you had to do was light it and enjoy the ride.

Returning to your dorm room, you pulled out your Boy Scout lighter and lit the end of the blunt. Hesitant, you slowly lifted the end to your mouth and inhaled.

Cough, cough, cough "Man, this shit is strong" you sputtered.

You lifted the blunt to your lips and inhaled once again. Everything became slightly fuzzy. Your head felt lighter, but your body felt heavier. As you sat down on your bed, you took another hit. You felt a warm sensation on your back, almost like the sun. As you sat there, taking hit after hit. The warmth spread across your body, becoming almost unbearable. You stripped naked, trying to ease some of the discomforts of the heat. As the warmth further spread, it brought with it a fuzziness and color. Almost as if someone had rubbed paint all over your body, the color snaked way across your torso, snaking around your side onto your chest and up and down your body.

As the warmth continued stroking your arms and legs, you felt them stretch. Bright, blond hairs began poking their way out of your follicles and curling on your body. The warmth stretched your torso, distorting the colors until they began to resemble intricate patterns, images, and letters.

The warmth stretched you further. You were 6'4" now, nearly a foot taller than before you had lit the blunt. The warmth massaged your face as your features began to sharpen, and your hair grew out and lightened into a fierce blond. On the opposite end of your body, the warmth pulled at your toes and feet, stretching them in your socks several sizes larger. You wiggled your toes as that blond curly hair grew all over the tops of your toes and feet. They were now Size 12s, wide and long enough to support your new height.

The warmth dissipated around the rest of your body, concentrating on your dick. As it stroked you, you moaned in pleasure, not noticing your large Adam's apple bobbing in your neck and the deep voice coming from your mouth. Your dick began to grow further and further away from your body, escaping the ever-thickening jungle of blond, curly hairs surrounding it. As you neared climax, you felt everything in your head being churned into your balls. You screamed in ecstasy as you shot out all of your memories of being a skinny, good-for-nothing dweeb.

Gasping for air, you grabbed the towel next to you and wiped the cum from your strong, inked chest. Throwing on a dirty tank top and some old white pants, you snapped a pic to upload to Instagram.

You uploaded, and the thirst comments were already rolling in. Smiling to yourself, satisfied, you put your phone away. Opening the door, you found yourself in the backstage area. Being ushered by people wearing black, you were handed a microphone. Someone lifted a jacket over your arms. You could hear the roar of the crowd: you are a rockstar. Waiting for the cue, the cheers became deafening. At the nod of the stage manager, you ran out onto the stage, at which point the crowd went insane.

As the band started playing, and the fans started jumping with the beat, you screamed into the mic:

"I Am Weed"