YO! I didn’t write this! ALL credit goes to the wonderful @vikingzombieboyfriend . I just gave him a before and after (and maybe some money as extra motivation), and he filled in the rest. Enjoy.
It was a sweltering July afternoon in 1883 as Sir Charles Magnus-Drake strolled regally through London’s Whitechapel slums. He knew his tall, muscular frame would deter any ruffians tempted by his fine clothing and sapphire-studded cane. A handful of other society folk were about that hot July morning, observing the poverty for their own amusement from the safety of their carriages. These men and women led empty, frivolous lives, and were eager for any sort of thrill. Sir Charles mixed with them regularly, in the balls and salons and fashionable restaurants, but they had no idea he was no longer of their world.
Looking at Kyle and Micheal now you wouldn’t think that last night these two where built 24 year old starts of their college football team, with a promising career in the NFL ahead of them. That is until they got a bit to drunk at the bar last night celebrating a big when and decided to mess with the overweight bar owner. Unfortunately for the them the owner had a ability, one he was more than happy to use on two arrogant jocks. He’s sure the two former jocks will get used to their new lives in time.
A new one for me with a real age progression and weight gain sequence – with accompanying text (yes that’s right – my first mini story!)
Enjoy and feedback
PRIDE COMES BEFORE A FALL
Kyle had it all. 21 and in college on full scholarship. With his gym toned muscles, gorgeous tousled hair and model good looks he was a hit with all the girls on campus. He knew too how to mingle with the girls – posing for their fashion shots, dressing metrosexually in the ultimate smart casual styles, always having the latest aftershave. He was the ultimate metrosexual hipster and he loved it – a real manslut! Of course he broke a lot of hearts but he was so obsessed with his looks and his charm he never once stopped to think that out of the girls he messed around he may have some enemies… Therefore he didn’t question when he found a thick stout old fashioned varnished pipe I his mailbox with a note reading “with love xxx”. Kyle was a social smoker and normally smoked elegant cigarettes but the idea of a proper retro pipe or cigar excited him. It was without any hesitation he decided to light up….
***
As Kyle inhaled he felt the smoke fill his lungs…his stomach…hell it felt like his brain became muggy with it. And still he inhaled, he couldn’t get enough but puff puff puff away. So absorbed was he in smoking the stout pipe he didn’t notice his face becoming more weather beaten, losing that fresh youthful look… or that his thick tousled hair was starting to retreat from the forehead….or the curls of dark body hair sprouting on his chest… or the expanding waistband and pecs that drooped as the swelled… not even the thick stench of body odour…
***
Eventually he coughed, spluttering. What was he thinking, why was he so crazy about smoking. With a jolt Kyle looked up and saw himself in the mirror…or rather he saw a fat old man in his late 60s…. shiny bald pate and a kindly face with a big white bushy beard….coarse body hair across shoulders arms and plunging into his vest….once fashionable braces now holding up loose slacks sagging under a huge solid fat gut. As he stared in forlorn horror having lost everything he loved about himself he started to feel new cravings…stirrings in his crotch and itches in his ass….. Kyle, now Karl was ready to begin his new life.
Imagine having access to a beatification ray gun, what fun you could have with it. I’d use it on just about every guy I came across. The cute barista zap him into a flannel eating fat trucker with a unkempt beard and mess of curly hair on his head. The athletic guy at the gym with a nice muscled body zap him into being a hairy overweight redneck with a greying goatee and mullet. That annoying business man in a expensive suit that won’t ahut up on his phone, zap into being a dimwitted mechanic eating dirty coveralls that his belly stretches out, his face round with a shaved head a bushy goatee.
The hat sat firmly on Logan’s head as he sat in the backseat playing his 3DS. When the battery suddenly died, he groaned and chucked the electronic into the seat next to him, electing to look out the window.
“Something wrong?” His dad asked from the front seat, looking in the rearview mirror.
“It died,” Logan huffed.
“What did?”
“My, uh… my Nintendo thing.”
“Sorry bud.”
“It’s okay.” Logan dug through his backpack and produced a large, hardback book. “I’ll just read.”
“Read? Read what?”
“My book,” Logan smiled, pushing his eyeglasses up his nose. “The Johnstown Flood by David McCullough.”
His dad chuckled. “You interested in that?”
“I’ll read anything by McCullough.”
“Well, that’s great, bud, but can you stop kicking my seat?”
“Sorry.” Logan looked at the brown leather wingtips that he’d been swinging into the back of the driver’s seat. A blush filled his cheeks. “Why’d I wear white socks?”
“What’s that?”
“I said, why did I wear white socks with my dress shoe-oh.” Logan looked at the sheer nylon dress socks pulled up to his knees, so tall that they nearly reached into his basketball shorts. “Never mind.”
They rode in silence for a few moments, Logan reading his book and turning the pages with his right hand while he twirled the drawstrings of his hoodie with his left.
“Logan?”
“Yes?”
“Could you move your seat back? I can feel your knees.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Logan’s knees were indeed pressed hard into the back of the driver’s seat, and he wondered why he hadn’t noticed how uncomfortable he himself was, let alone his dad. He leaned forward and rolled the seat all the way back, leaving a small gap between his knees and the seat in front of him. When he sat up, his hat was brushing against the top of the car, so he reclined his seat several notches, which felt a lot better, although at his height it was never as comfortable sitting in the back as it was the front. “Could you do me a favor?”
“Hm?”
“Could you turn on the air back here?”
“I told you not to wear pants, bud, it’s too hot!”
Logan looked down at his sharply creased navy blue trousers. “I know,” he sighed, “I just feel naked without them.” He felt the vents breathing cool air out onto him, and pulled a silk paisley handkerchief out of his pants pocket to wipe his brow. “Thank you.”
They drove in silence as Logan read his book. A stoplight approached and turned yellow with some time to spare. Logan’s dad thought he could make it and sped up, but as the intersection approached he realized that it was still too far away, so he tapped the brakes as the light turned red.
The car lurched enough that Logan’s seatbelt locked, constricting him inside his seat. “Oof!” he grunted, feeling the air get pushed out of him.
“Sorry, thought I could make the light,” his dad said.
“No matter,” Logan said, unbuckling the seatbelt to unlock it. He loosened the leather belt looped through his dress pants several notches, rebuckled it, then pulled the seatbelt back over his waist.
It wouldn’t reach the buckle. Logan’s brow furrowed in concentration, and he tried again, pulling the strap far over his belly. “What the…”
“Buckle up, dude,” his dad said.
“Working on it,” Logan mumbled. He lifted his beach ball belly and ran the seatbelt underneath it, smiling with accomplishment as he heard the lock click in place. “They don’t really make these for a 44-inch waist, do they?” he said, patting the concrete strength of his stomach.
“44 inch waist, huh bud?” His dad said from up front. “I don’t know what kinda parent I’d be if I let you get that big. Where would we find clothes for you?”
“Get ‘em made,” Logan shrugged, reaching up to open the collar of his dress shirt, and unbutton the next button down. His enormous chest heaved with pride. Pecs as massive as a man’s head strained against the front of his white shirt, puckering the buttons. Logan stuck his fingers in between the two gigantic muscles and gave a little scratch – sometimes his chest hair got itchy when it was hot. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat, and finally got the idea to roll the arm rest up, allowing his hefty waist and broad back plenty of room to spill off the sides. “Can’t remember the last time I fit in a chair,” he grumbled.
After a few moments of quiet, Logan began to giggle, which soon transitioned into full-on laughter that filled the car. His huge pecs heaved up and down, nearly bursting his buttons as they shook.
“What is it, bud?”
“It tickles!” Logan chuckled.
“What does?”
“My face!” Logan reached up and stroked his beard, his big hands vanishing completely into the most masculine of adornments. The long curls completely his face from the nose down, with a broad handlebar mustache stretching out to his cheeks and covering his lips. The fluffy beard reached down to the top of his open shirt collar; the whiskers impressively thick and full, their salt-and-pepper coloring catching the light like a disco ball.
“Hmmmm…you might need to shave that off before school tomorrow.”
“That’s out of the question,” Logan said, holding his head high as he continued to stroke his huge beard. “I’ve had a beard for fifty years!” He narrowed his eyes defiantly, jutting out his chin for emphasis – though the latter action could barely be seen due to his facial hair.
“Fifty years, huh? Just how old are you, bud?”
Logan plucked at the lapels of his gray bespoke sport coat. “I would hope you remember I’m seventy-four.”
“74!” His dad laughed. “You don’t look a day over 13.”
“Now, Paul, I know that’s meant as a compliment, but I love the way I look,” Logan smiled. “I’m proud of these wrinkles.”
“You should be,” Paul said, looking in the rearview mirror. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear a baseball cap before, Dad.”
Logan reached up and doffed the cap that said BEAR on it, revealing a full head of thick silver hair. “Now where did this come from?” he rumbled, his deep bass making the car shake.
“I think it’s something Zack picked up at the zoo,” Paul said to his father. “I was wondering why you were wearing it.” The car rolled into a driveway and came to a stop. “We’re here!”
Four rambunctious pre-teen boys burst out of the house as Logan eased his bulk out of the car and planted his wingtips on the concrete. “GRANDPA! GRANDPA!” Logan spread his arms wide and let all four crash into him for a big bear hug.
A woman emerged from the house and gave Paul a kiss before walking up to Logan. “Hi, Orville,” she said to him, giving him a peck on the cheek and a hug. “It’s so great to see you.”
“Hi, honey,” Orville said to his daughter-in-law. “You look as wonderful as ever.”
“So do you! I wish Paul would take notes,” she said, indicating Orville’s beautiful suit.
“Oh, now, he’s got less time to worry about that,” Orville smiled. “Besides, I think he fills out that polo shirt pretty nicely,” he continued, looking at his bearded son, 300 pounds of burly, hairy muscle. Paul had picked up one of his sons and was pretending to curl him like a barbell, and the boy – Zack, the youngest – was laughing and kicking.
“Come inside, come inside. Owen, can you carry Grandpa’s bag?”
Orville puffed his chest up with pride as Owen grabbed the heavy bag without exertion, displaying the signature family strength. The button clasped below Orville’s pecs snapped apart, but no one noticed, and Orville rubbed the top of Owen’s head as they walked into the house together.
Stuck as Santa 