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About muskymuscle

  • Rank
    10+ Posts


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  • This profile is a...
    real profile.
  • Gender
  • Orientation
  • What are your interests?
    Bears, beards, and muscle
  • What are your stats?
    5'5" and 175 lbs. I'm a bit on the short side, but if I can't grow upwards, I'll just grow outwards.
  • What are you seeking?
    Looking to find people and stories that are all about muscles. If you feel like showing off your stuff, send me a message. I'll happily admire you.
  • What are your dream stats?
    Big muscle bear proportions. For me, that would mean nearly bodybuilder sized muscles with a nice thickness to them. Don't forget the body hair and massive beard.
  • Favorite Stories
    The Librarian, Bulking, and any story involving growth over time.
  • Favorite Bodybuilders
    Thom Austin, Mike Ergas, Stan Mikula
  • Got Any Fetishes?
    Muscle growth and beard growth, either related or not.

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  1. muskymuscle

    Journey with Journals - Part 4 Added

    Part 5 is going to either be late this week or postponed until next week. I've got a few other side things I'm working on as well that take precedent. Sorry about any inconveniences! Feel free to re-read the previous parts and give feedback. I'm always learning.
  2. muskymuscle

    Journey with Journals - Part 4 Added

    Part 4 Here's the fourth part of the story. This time you'll find out what happens to Al. Hint: There's a lot of muscle growth and a dash of macro. I hope you enjoy! Keep leaving me comments, I love hearing what you think! Also, the ending seems kind of final, but don't worry, I have more planned. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- When I return to the living room I see that Al is still diligently cleaning up the mess from the party. I halfheartedly begin picking things up as well. I slowly begin moving closer towards Al, one piece of trash at a time. My grabby tendencies are beginning to flare up from all the drinks I've had but luckily, my plan involves a lot of touching. Al is kneeling down wiping up a stain when I finally reach him. I lean down and pretend that I'm wiping away some dust off of his shoulders. Al stiffens up slightly but doesn't seem to notice that this is a thinly veiled excuse for me to touch him. "Al, you're so stiff. Your muscles are all bunched up. Let me give you a little massage to relieve some tension." I don't wait for his response. I dig my thumbs into his traps and I hear Al exhale sharply. I pause for a second to see how Al reacts, but after a few seconds of him sitting still, I continued. I slowly massage Al's muscles, working from his traps to his shoulders. "You're pretty built you know?" I whisper to Al. "I'm nothing special. Maybe a bit above average, but that's it." Al says back. "I'm serious. I can basically feel you growing bigger." I replied, grinning. Al kept silent, not realizing that I was being more truthful than flirtatious. I glanced down at Al and watched as his semi-loose shirt slowly began to fill out. I moved from his shoulders to his back and began kneading his muscles with the palms of my hands. Al seems to be oblivious as his muscles continue to grow. "You're back is so wide. I'm surprised you can fit into a shirt this small with lats this big." Al's back widens faster as I verbally admire him. The rest of his muscles grow slower, but at a steady fixed rate. How long will it be until he starts to notice? Once I'm done with his back I start shifting my hands down further towards his lower half. As my hand caresses Al's growing bubble butt, he suddenly stands up and faces me. The growth stops as soon as I stop touching him. "Wait!" Al has a conflicted look on his face. Did I take things too far? Am I going too fast for him? "Could you..." He pauses before staring me in the eyes. "Could you massage me from the front first?" I laugh, the sudden stress instantly releasing from me. I guess Al's enjoying this more than I expected. "Of course. Do you want to do this standing or on your back?" I ask. "Standing is fine." Al replies. I stand up straight and admire Al's new mass before I start on his chest. His shirt is getting a tad tight for him. I take a step closer to him and place my hands on his pecs. Al begins to slowly grow once more. "You're pecs are huge! I don't think 'a bit above average' even comes close." I say. I can feel his chest slowly pushing against my hands as he grows bigger. Al looks down to where I'm massaging him. "I guess they do look a bit bigger today." I can hear the confidence growing within him. As I begin working my way to his biceps, I hear Al grunt in discomfort. Al's shirt now looks like it's several sizes too small for him. The fabric stretches tightly across his chest and is riding up his stomach to just below his bellybutton, revealing a trail of hair leading to his crotch. "My shirt feels really tight for some reason. I swear I just bought it. Damn cheap materials shrinking in the wash." Somehow, Al still hasn't noticed his growth. I had added probably over 40 pounds of muscle and I wasn't even halfway done yet. I grip each of Al's biceps with my hands and tell him to flex them. He complies and I feel the hard muscle forming as he performs a double bicep flex. His biceps stretch the sleeves of his shirt to it's limits. Veins begin to pop up from his now paper thin skin. "Holy shit. You're biceps barely fit into your shirt. If you were any bigger they'd-" Just then, with an audible ripping sound, the seams of Al's shirt began to tear. Al froze for a second before he began smiling. "Woah, that's a first. I guess I really am getting big." Al said, his voice a bit deeper than it was a minute ago. He's also grown several days worth of stubble in the past few minutes making his already grown goatee look even thicker. He finally looked down at himself and gasped. "What the hell? I'm huge!" He looks at me with a confused face. Even though he's confused, I can tell from the growing bulge in his pants that he's excited by his new body. "Took you long enough to notice! You'll be more than huge once I'm done with you." I say laying my hands on him once more. As Al struggles to comprehend what's happening to him, he begins to moan. The muscle growth has begun to act as a catalyst for pleasure. Al flexes his biceps and chest harder than before and shreds the remains of his shirt. The material flutters to the ground, leaving Al bare chested. Al's exposed chest is a sight to behold. His chest, now as vascular as a pro bodybuilder's, is littered with bulging veins. His abs look as if they were carved from cobblestone, with six thick and perfectly symmetrical muscles. I can't help but stare at my creation. Al even seems to be a few inches taller. I work on his legs next. Al shimmies his pants off first, only leaving him in a pair of short black boxer-briefs. Without his pants, his bulge freely points forward. From the bulge, I can tell that Al is well endowed, easily 8 inches or more. A small wet spot has formed at the tip of his dick. Each of his legs has already become thicker than both of my legs combined, but I continue to grow him. When he flexes his tree trunk legs, the striation of each individual muscle can be made out. I caress his giant thighs and begin working my way behind him to his ass once more. "Fuck yeah! Make me bigger! Grow me more!" Al growled at me. He's taking this a lot better than I was expecting. I begin groping his meaty ass, watching as his boxer-briefs begin to strain from the mass within it. Once I finally finish working on his legs, Al bellows a deep guttural groan. "I can't take it anymore! I need release!" Al faces me again and with a single hand rips off what now looks like a painted on pair of underwear. His cock, now free from any and all confines, points upwards at an angle. Every few seconds it twitches, releasing a copious amount of precum. A thick bush of hair covers the base of his cock. I look up at Al. He's now over 350 pounds of muscle and stands nearly a foot taller than me at 6'10". His beard has fully developed and is an inch in length. Al grabs hold of his cock and looks at me expectingly. I lick my lips in anticipation and lower my head towards his throbbing cock. "No! I want more than that." Al stops me before I can reach him. "You don't mean-" "I do. Now strip for me!" Al says. It doesn't sound like it's up for discussion. Luckily, big guys turn me on. As I'm undressing, I can feel the lust in Al's eyes as he watches. Once I'm completely naked, Al lifts me up and tosses me over his shoulder with ease. He carries me to his bedroom and drops me on his bed. "Get on your stomach." Al orders me. "Wait, what about condoms?" I ask. "Ugh fuck! Fine, I'll grab one." Al says. He walks over to his bedside counter and grabs a box of magnum sized condoms. He rips open one of the packages and slides it over his cock. "Are you happy now?" I answer by flipping over and raising my ass. I'm not usually a bottom, but I think I'll let this be an exception. Al climbs onto the bed behind me and positions his cock with my hole. Without any more delays, Al thrusts his cock into my ass. I yell out in pain and pleasure. His cock is thicker than I was ready for. Al pushes deep into me, eventually ramming his cock head into my prostate, sending a wave of euphoria over me. My cock instantly gets rock hard and sprays a small amount of cum. I turn my head to look at Al as he fucks me. He's barely paying attention to me. Instead, he seems to be getting off on his own muscles. With each thrust, Al flexes another muscle. "God dammit Al, you're so big! You're muscles are making me so hard. And your cock- your cock is filling me up so much." Shit, I shouldn't have said that out loud. Al suddenly stops flexing and begins grunting. His muscles begin tensing all together. I can feel his cock pulsing inside me. Al lets out a scream and he starts to grow even more. In a single growth spurt, he gains 50 pounds of muscle. At the same time, I feel his cock begin to grow. Even though Al has already taken a few inches of his cock out of me I can feel my prostate being pushed up against once more. He must have grown at least 4 inches. Al screams one last time as I feel his balls retracting just before he blows his load. Watching and hearing him grow sends me off the edge and I cum without touching myself once. After he calms down, Al slowly removes his cock from my ass, careful not to make me prolapse with his newly gigantic cock. Once he's out of me, I feel somewhat hollowed by the lack of pressure within me. I watch Al remove his condom. It only fits halfway over his now 12 inch cock and is filled with his seed. "I can't let all this protein go to waste now can I?" Al says as he puts the edge of the condom to his lips and begins drinking his own cum. Looking at Al now, he was barely recognizable from just an hour ago. Before he was 5'7" and maybe just over 200 pounds, now he was over 7' tall and easily broke 400 pounds, not to mention his gargantuan cock. With just a few words in his journal, I helped transform Al into a massive muscle beast. "Is this real?" Al asked me after finishing his cum filled drink. "Very." I answer. "Then I'll let it be at that. I don't care how it happened, I just care that it did." He said matter-of-factly. His confidence seems to be another thing that has gotten a boost as well. Al looked at his closet and realized he'd never fit into any of his clothes. "Well, shit. How am I going to go out in public now?". I laugh, and tell him that I'd help him out. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It's been a few week since Al's transformation. After the initial growth, I went out the next day to order some custom sized clothing for him. We kept in contact by text but we haven't really seen each other much since. Al told me that when he's asked about his sudden growth, he just says he was a late bloomer. Every now and then I see Al looking intimidating as hell at the front of the club I first met him at. He's become the biggest bouncer in town. For now we keep our distance, but maybe I'll help him grow again one day.
  3. muskymuscle

    Journey with Journals - Part 4 Added

    Thanks for the kind words! Hopefully you'll like my next parts just as much.
  4. muskymuscle

    Journey with Journals - Part 4 Added

    Part 3 Here's the next part of the story! I needed to cool off a bit after that last part so this one is a bit slower. Enjoy! 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- As I sat there confused by the journal's sudden appearance, I could feel Grant begin to wake up beside me. The bed creaked under us from Grant's shifting weight and just before Grant turned towards me, I reached under the pillow behind me and hid the journal. Still on his side Grant was now facing me, a smile on his face. "Hey there. I almost thought what happened between us was a just a dream. I've never felt anything so intense before." "I'm almost surprised it wasn't. The amount of cum that came out of you was insane." I joked, patting my stomach. Honestly, it was way more than I'd ever experienced before, it didn't even seem possible. "That was new for me too." Grant replied, blushing. Grant then began sitting up, but stopped quickly with a look of pain on his face. With a grunt, he fell backwards onto the bed. "Holy shit am I sore. I have no idea what happened with that workout, but I feel like was run over by a truck." Grant said through gritted teeth. "But it also feels kinda good, like the best pump of my life." Now on his back, I had a clear look at his whole body. While he hadn't changed drastically, I was slightly taken aback by what I saw. Grant seemed to have shed a couple pounds of fat and replaced it with muscle mass and slight definition while his legs and chest had also become more vascular. I wasn't sure how long it had been since we fell asleep, but Grant's pump still seemed to be going strong. "I think I'm just going to lie here for a while." Grant said. He sighed as he closed his eyes and his breathing slowed down. I waited a few seconds, expecting Grant to say something else, but it seemed like he had instantly passed out again. He must have had a really tough time with that workout. Slowly, I reached back under the nearby pillow to grab the journal. After waving my hand under the pillow a few times and not finding the journal, I lifted the pillow up to find that the journal had vanished. "What the hell?" I whispered under my breath, being careful not to wake Grant. I got the journal to appear just minutes before this, but how? What triggered it? I put the pillow back down and began thinking of things to try. At the same time, I got off the bed and began gathering my clothes off the ground. After picking up my now dry shorts, I fished around in my pockets until I found my phone. I turned the screen on to check the time. The time read just before noon, but that didn't seem right, I came over to Grant's house after noon. I looked out the window to make sure my phone was right and saw the morning sun rising. I looked down at my phone once more and realized that it was already Sunday. We had slept nearly an entire day away. I guess a romp that charged up tends to make you really tired. Not wanting to wear my soiled underwear and shorts, and being unwilling to walk in the nude to my car for my change of clothes, I decided to borrow some of Grant's. I walked over to his closet and began going through his drawers. After trying on a several pairs of underwear, it was clear that they were too large for me. If I wasn't holding them up they slid right off of me. I dug a little deeper until I found a jockstrap that fit surprisingly well. Grant wasn't the athletic type, so I could only imagine why he would own a jockstrap. I then quickly found a pair of workout shorts that fit and finally put my own shirt back on. Now fully dressed, I stood in the center of the room and began trying to make the journal appear again. The first thing I tried was to just will the journal into existence. After several unsuccessful minutes of scrunching my face in effort and making grabbing gestures that must have made me look like a madman, I decided that this probably wasn't the right way to do it. I thought back to each of the times the journal appeared and tried to find a common thread. An idea began to form in my mind and I moved my way over to the sleeping Grant. I slowly placed my hand on his belly and pulled my hand back. Nothing happened. I paused once more. Maybe I needed to think something specific at the same time? I tried recalling what I was thinking each time the journal appeared, but I had no clue where to begin. I placed my hand back on to Grant and began thinking about how I could help ease the soreness that I had indirectly caused. I didn't know what else to do so I took my hand off him only to see the black and white journal and mechanical pencil materialize out of thin air into my hand. Apparently, physical contact and a desire to help the other person seemed to be a trigger for making the journals show up. I flipped the journal open to where I wrote in it and erased my entry. While it would have helped Grant build muscle, the drawbacks were a bit too extreme. I really like Grant and didn't want to change him in ways that I'd regret, so I decided not to add anything else to his journal, at least for the time being. Now the question became: how do I make the journal disappear? My phone began to vibrate. I put down the journal onto a nearby desk and grabbed my phone. Joe had just texted me. "My pals and I are going out to the club later today. Do you want to join?" It was hard for me to imagine Joe outside the setting of the bar since that's the only place I'd ever seen him, but I guess everyone has a life outside of their job. I replied to Joe saying that I'd come. After getting the address and time, I put my phone back into my pocket. I looked over to where I had put down the journal only to find that it had already disappeared. Does it disappear when I stop thinking about it? While there were quite a few mysteries left about the Journal, I decided that it was time for me to head out. I wrote a short note to Grant telling him that it was Sunday and to get better, but also writing that we'd see each other again soon. I put the note on the bedside table near Grant and left the house. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I stepped out of the taxi in front of the club and took a look around. There was a large line of young, mostly twenty-somethings waiting to enter the club. I didn't go clubbing very often, one of the reasons being that I felt so much older than the majority of the club-goers. I'm only in my early thirties, but the age difference is apparent whenever I talk to them. At the front of the line is a stocky man with a goatee who I assume is the bouncer. As I walk closer, I see the bouncer is talking to someone while ushering people into the venue, but I don't have a clear view of who. As I start heading towards the back of the line, I hear a voice call out my name from the direction of the bouncer. I turn back to see Joe waving at me from beside the bouncer. "You made it." Joe said once I got closer. He was wearing a vibrant red dress shirt with the top few buttons undone showing off quite the hairy chest. "What the hell are you wearing?" I ask, trying to cover up a laugh. "What? It's just my clubbing shirt. You like it, right Al?" Joe said, now looking at the bouncer. The bouncer rolled his eyes and continued letting people into the club. "I'll take that as a yes!" Joe said, not letting the silence deter him for even a second. "Anyways, Al, meet Dan. Dan this is Al. We'll be going in now." Without waiting for a response, Joe grabbed me by my arm and brought me into the club. With the music blaring and the lights being so low, I would have gotten lost in the crowd instantly if it wasn't for Joe guiding me through. After bumping into people and trying to avoid getting drinks spilled onto us, Joe led me to an upstairs lounge area where he finally let my arm go. We stopped at a large couch where three people, two men and a woman, were waiting for us. "Hey guys, this is Dan." Joe said while acting out a grand gesture towards me. The group clapped sarcastically before Joe dived back into introductions. "Sitting on the right, is Otto," He points towards the thin man who has his arm around the blonde lady beside him. "He's a programmer, but don't get too close, he's a biter!" "Woah, don't go spreading rumors now. I only bite in self defense." Otto said, winking towards me. "Sitting beside him is Claire." Claire waves at me. "She's Otto's girlfriend." "Really? That's all I am? I'm also a doctor by the way," Claire says, tossing a few pretzels at Joe. "Which is why I'm only drinking water," she finishes, picking up her cup to emphasize the point. "Finally we have Cameron," The man being introduced is sitting with one leg on the table in front of him. He is wearing a tight shirt that shows off all the bulges of his upper body. "But everyone just calls him Jock since-" "Boom!" Jock yells out as he lifts up the front of his shirt to reveal his shredded eight-pack. "Yeah, that. Honestly I have no idea what he does, but he's a bodybuilder or something." Joe says with a shrug. "Hell no! I'm all about the physique." Jock says, sounding almost offended. "With that over with, let's party!" With introductions over, I followed the group back down to the club floor. After a few hours of drinking and dancing, Joe comes up to me and tells me that the group is heading out. "Come with us, the night doesn't have to end here!" Joe starts to pull me behind him before I have a chance to refuse. Outside, we met up with Jock, Claire, Otto, and Al the bouncer. "Al's done his shift so we can go to his place" Jock says when he sees us coming. "I never said you could come to my house." Al said, shaking his head. He didn't put up any more protests however and seemed resigned to his fate. "Perfect! Let's go! Al, you can drive us, right?" Joe said, already heading towards the parking lot. "Fine. Just don't make a mess of the seats." --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A short time later, we arrive at Al's place and pick up where we left off at the club. Before long however, we end up sitting in a circle on the living room floor. "You know what we should be doing right now?" Claire says, picking up an empty beer bottle and placing it in the center of the circle. We all see where this is going and begin protesting. "Claire, you know I'm sitting right here beside you right?" Otto says. "Also, there are four guys and only one girl." "Is that a problem? If you're so scared to kiss another man, maybe there's a bigger problem." Claire said tauntingly. Most likely from the alcohol, Otto fell for the provocations. "Oh yeah? Well I'll show you!" Otto puffed up his chest and strode over to the bottle and gave it a quick spin. The bottle slowed to a stop pointing towards Claire. Otto cheered and leaned towards Claire and gave her a kiss. "Damn, well there goes my fun. Alright, Dan, you're next." Claire continued. "What? We're actually doing this? Why are we playing such a juvenile game?" I asked with a groan. What I didn't say was how I wouldn't actually mind kissing any of the people in the circle. "If anyone has any objections, speak now." Claire announced. After no one said anything, she turned back towards me. "There's your answer." I take a look around the room once more before I walk over to the bottle. Jock is on his phone not paying attention. Joe is watching eagerly as he sips his beer. Al is staring at the bottle nervously. Finally, Claire and Otto are leaning against each other and watching me expectantly. I reach down and spin the bottle. I hold my breath as the bottle begins to slow down.The bottle stops at Al. "Uh. I've never kissed a dude before." Al said. Al's eyes keep darting between the bottle and me. "Don't worry about it. It's pretty much the same as kissing a girl." I had no idea if that was true, but I didn't want him to freak out. Al stood up with me and we stared at each other for a second. I took the initiative and went in for the kiss. Al shut his eyes tightly. Our lips made contact, but the kiss was very underwhelming. Al didn't move at all so it felt almost like kissing a mannequin. I ended the kiss quickly and stepped away from him. "I think I'm gonna be sick." I hear Otto say. "Hey, it wasn't that bad." I say as I turn towards Otto. "No, not that," Otto says. His face is pale. "I think I drank too much." "And that's our cue to leave." Claire helps Otto stand up. "I'll call us a cab." Joe says. "Lightweight." Jock says after he puts his phone away and begins walking out of the room. I look around the room and notice the mess we made. "I'll stay here for a bit and help Al clean up." I call out to Joe. He's already in the process of calling for a ride, but turns towards me and nods. "You don't have to stay. I can clean it up myself." Al says eyeing the garbage left everywhere. "No way. I feel bad just making this mess. I wouldn't want to just leave it all for you to take care of." Once everyone else leaves, Al and I begin cleaning. "So you didn't seem super keen on us coming to your place." I said, trying to ease into the conversation. "Why didn't you just tell us not to come?" Al was quiet for a few seconds before he answered. "Even though I'm a bouncer, I'm not very intimidating. People tend to ignore what I say." I glanced over at Al. While he definitely wasn't small by any means, but Al did seem more friendly than scary. From what I could see, he had the bulky build of a power lifter. "If I could just be huge, I'm sure people would listen to me." I heard Al whisper. I don't think he meant for me to hear that, so I acted like I didn't notice. I suddenly had an idea of how I could help Al. As Al leaned down to pick up a piece of garbage, I pretended to grab for it as well, instead touching his hand. As I pulled my hand away a journal began to materialize. I quickly hid the journal behind me and made up an excuse to go to the washroom. I found my way to the washroom and closed the door behind me. I brought out the journal. The journal had a dark blue moleskine cover read "Alistair O'Donnell". Huh, so that's what Al is short for, I thought to myself. Beside the journal is a plain black pencil which I take hold of. I make a mental note about the fact that each of the journals have had completely different covers. So Al wants to get big? I can help him with that. I flip past the stats page but not before noticing that he is listed as bisexual. I could always just increase his numbers, but where's the fun in that? I want an active role, something I can help with. I continue going through the journal until I get to his likes page. I take a moment to scan over the items to find something that I can work with until I find the perfect one, having his muscles admired. I quickly find my way to the attributes page and write a new entry. My scheme to make Al bigger is about to be set in motion.
  5. muskymuscle

    Journey with Journals - Part 4 Added

    I'm not super fond of the title, and I'm thinking of changing it once I get the next part out. If anyone has any suggestions or would rather me not change the title, feel free to leave a message!
  6. muskymuscle

    Journey with Journals - Part 4 Added

    Maybe you'll find out more in later parts?
  7. muskymuscle

    Journey with Journals - Part 4 Added

    Part 2 Here's the second part of the story. This one scratches some dark subjects, but only for a little bit. I like to read stories that I can get emotionally involved in, so that's what I tend to write. If you guys don't really enjoy that style, tell me so I can mix it up for next time. Also, this one is way longer than the previous part. I kept writing and writing, I just couldn't stop! If you can make it through the whole part, hopefully you'll enjoy what comes at the end ;D 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Halfway through my first shift as a bartender and I was already feeling overwhelmed. After breezing through the interview last week, I was fairly confident that I'd be able to handle the job, but that confidence was quickly dashed when the hordes of patrons started appearing and ordered drink after drink. Luckily, I wasn't alone. Joe was behind the bar with me and he was doing most of the work. Handling orders, making small talk, and keeping the peace, Joe somehow made doing all that at the same time look easy. "What a doozy of a first day, huh?" Joe said, turning to me when we finally hit a lull. "We're not usually this busy, but apparently the bar has been gaining popularity through some online reviews and blogs or something." "How in the hell did you manage that crowd so well?" I ask, astonished. "How? Well, practice, obviously." Joe replied as he hooked his thumbs into his suspenders near his chest and began to pull outwards, "Practice, and a sprinkle of bartender charm." He let his suspenders snap back and with a wry grin he gave me a wink. "Right, about that," I say while rolling my eyes, "Why do you wear such a cliche outfit?" While on shift, Joe always wears the same stereotypical bartender getup: black jeans, white dress shirt, and suspenders. The only thing that varies from day to day is the bow ties he wears. Today's bow tie was brown with speckled white dots. "Don't knock my style," Joe said with a feigned look of hurt. "If you must know, I wear it for the customers. I find that people tend to respond better when I wear something predictable and easily recognizable. The outfit is pretty comfy too." Besides his final comment, I was actually pretty surprised by his sincere response. I was expecting something more along the lines of picking up dates or- "Also, the ladies say my butt looks good in these pants which makes them tip more." I let out a long sigh and shook my head. I did have to admit that fact was true though, his butt did look pretty good in those pants. "What? You asked!" Joe said, an amused look on his face. As he began absentmindedly twisting his mustache with one hand, he continued, "The next wave of people will be coming soon, so get ready. Don't worry about the orders, I'll take care of that, just focus on keeping the customers happy for now. Talk to them, ask how there day was, that kind of stuff." As a few more people began entering the bar, we went back to work. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Hey, do you mind taking care of the bar solo for a few minutes? I need to finish up some paperwork and prep our shipment orders." Joe asked me. It was the end of the night and there were very few people left. "Very funny. I think I can manage." I nodded towards the large, now mostly empty room. "Alright, don't burn the place down while I'm gone!" Joe said, giving me a double thumbs up as he walked away. Once Joe was out of sight I did a quick survey of the remaining bar-goers. I quickly realized that there were roughly two types of people still here. Those out late partying with their pals, and those drinking alone because they had nothing else to do. A man in a suit and tie who clearly belonged in the second category sat quietly with a drink at the counter near me. The man did little besides stare forwards and take small sips out of his glass or scratch his disheveled beard scruff, but for some reason I felt strongly compelled to go over to him and strike up a conversation. It took me a few moments to understand why, he was drinking alone at the bar with a sad look on his face. He reminded me of myself just a week ago. There was one big difference between us however, I had Joe to talk to. I began the short walk towards the man. I would be his Joe. If I could be even slightly as helpful as Joe I would be satisfied. It took the man a few seconds to notice me once I walked into his view. Once he looked my way I said, "How's it going?" He seemed surprised that I was talking to him. His previously glossy eyes began to clear up somewhat. "What me?" He asked. I nodded in reply. "I'm..." he noticeably hesitated and his eyes clouded over again before he continued, "I'm fine." The man was clearly not fine. I didn't want to force him to say anything he didn't want to say, so I changed the subject. "Nice drink choice." I said, motioning to his drink. His eyes followed my gesture to his drink. He abruptly looked up at me, his eyes much more focused now. "Are you a whiskey guy too? Most guys tend to go for beers nowadays." He asked excitedly. "Totally," I was just trying to start up a conversation and didn't actually know much if anything about whiskey, but not wanting to disappoint the man, I continued, "my favorite is..." I darted my eyes below the bar counter and saw the label to one of the whiskey bottles, "Highland Park." "No way, that's mine too. That's what I'm drinking right now!" The man's face broke into a smile. Worried that he'd ask more whiskey questions I quickly changed the subject again. "So what plans do you have for the rest of the night?" I asked. "I was planning on..." His face tenses for a moment before he looks me in the eyes and smiles, "It doesn't really matter. If you don't mind I think I'm gonna stay here for a while longer." We talked for a few minutes more until Joe returned. After checking back in with Joe and tidying up, I went back to conversing with the man at the bar. While we talked I found out that the man was an office worker for a big time business firm that deals with real estate. He explained the cutthroat culture of the office workers trying to outperform each other in what essentially amounted to popularity contests to acquire large projects, most of which he would lose out on. While I listened to this man's woes, I felt a growing connection to him. His struggles were very close to how it was at my previous job. I continued to get to know the man until it was nearly time to close the bar for the night. "Thanks," The man said to me. "For what?" I asked, somewhat confused. "For listening." He said, a sincere look on his face. "Oh, and I can't believe I spent all that time talking and didn't even introduce myself!" He thrust out his right hand, "My name is Grant." "And I'm Dan." I took Grant's hand and shook it. His hand was warm and softer than I was expecting. "It was nice meeting you." "If, uh, if you, um," Grant suddenly began stuttering over his words. He took a second to gather his thoughts, reached into his jacket inner pocket, and took out a business card. "Here's my number. If you want it." He placed the card on the counter in front of me. His face was getting redder by the second. "I'll be going now." He said with a quick smile and a wave before heading out of the bar. Once Grant had left, I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Well that was fucking adorable." I turned to see Joe grinning at me. "So what?" I said, grabbing the card and shoving it in my pocket. "Nothing. Just little Dan, making friends already. They grow up so fast!" Joe laughed. He then looked down at my other hand. "New journal?" "Huh?" I look down and notice a black and white checkered journal in my hand as well as a plain mechanical pencil. When did this get here? In silver lettering the name "Grant Witt" is the only thing on the cover. I vaguely remember something similar to this happening last week. "Oh this, yeah, just a journal of mine" I don't know why I lied, but I didn't feel like I should share the journal, at least not yet. "Alright," Joe raised a questioning eyebrow. "Well it's time to go home. Do you need a ride?" "I'm good, I drove today." I replied. After saying our goodbyes Joe and I parted ways for the night. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Once I arrive back at my apartment, I take the journal out and place it on my kitchen table. "Grant Witt, that can't be the same guy, could it?" I reach into my pocket and take out the business card. I inspect it for the name, and my suspicions are confirmed. The card also reads "Grant Witt". I slowly reach for the journal. If this journal is anything like the last one... I flip to the first page and see a plethora of familiar stats. The layout is nearly identical to the last journal except for the font and the specific stat inputs. At a quick glance I see that Grant is gay, overweight, and has an average dick. Is it rude of me to be looking at this info? Probably, but I can't stop myself. I flip through the journal skipping pages here and there. The way the journal is written is eerily similar to the one from before. With a more in-depth look than last time, I find that there are several other types of pages besides stats and life events, including wishes, regrets, likes, dislikes, and more. I continue through the journal until I reach the most recent entry. "Went to The Mirror & Banner Bar for a 'final drink'. Met a man named Dan who renewed his well-being. Gave Dan his number in hopes he'd call him. Went home and wrote a to-do list-" There was absolutely no way Grant had written this. Besides the fact that I hadn't seen him write anything while I was talking to him, this journal detailed things he apparently had done while nowhere near the journal. This journal was getting more confusing the longer I read it. I flipped back through the pages until I noticed something on the wishes section and saw something stranger. A new entry was being added before my eyes. "Get fit to impress Dan." I was shocked at what I just saw and flattered by what I read. I could feel my eyes widen from how unbelievable what I just saw was. The journal just filled itself in. Could this journal really somehow be connected to Grant? If he thinks and experiences things and they end up in the journal, does the opposite also apply? I needed to know the answer, but I didn't want to risk unknowingly harming Grant, so I had to be careful. I picked up the mechanical pencil I found with the journal, and flipped to a new section titled, "Attributes". I thought for a few minutes, wanting to be as careful as I could be on what I would decide to add. Finally, I started writing. "Gains five times the effects from exercise than normal." I chose something that would help him fulfill his new wish, even if that was a bit self-centered of me. It was a simple addition. I had to make sure there was no adverse effects before trying anything more extreme. I closed the journal and put the pencil down. I was getting jittery from excitement. The implications of something like this were amazing. I couldn't handle standing around any longer, so to pass the time I went to take a long hot shower. When I got out of the shower, I immediately headed back to the journal to read more. When I got to the kitchen table again, however, the journal had disappeared. I searched everywhere in my apartment but the journal was nowhere to be found. Had I just hallucinated the whole experience? I doubted it, but to be sure, I needed to meet with Grant again. I found Grant's cellphone number on the card he gave me and decided to text him. "Hey Grant, this is Dan. How's it going?" "Hi Dan, I can't believe you actually texted me! I'm so sorry for how awkward I got." It took Grant less than a minute to reply to my text. "Ha, no problem. Are you free this weekend?" "Completely and totally." "Would you be willing to be my workout partner? I'm trying out a new gym and having a partner always helps." After a few minutes of silence I was worried I had messed up my chance, but Grant finally replied. "Sure. When and where?" After a few more texts we decided on the details. A few more minutes of idle chatter followed, until we both decided it was finally time to sleep. The week passed by quickly. I was learning the ropes of bartending from Joe, all the while fantasizing about the potential of the journals. Where had they come from? Did my writing in it actually affect anything? My meeting with Grant couldn't come soon enough. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Finally the day of the meeting, I rushed to the gym, arriving a few minutes early. I decided to wait in the lobby for Grant. As I waited, I thought of how this meeting was killing two birds with one stone. The first being if I could get a hold of the journal again, the second being if what I wrote did anything to Grant. I was so deep in thought I didn't notice as Grant walked right up to me. "I hope you didn't have to wait to long." Grant said, apologizing. He was wearing baggy sweatpants and a large jacket. The sudden realization that Grant was right in front of me shook me out of my thoughts. "Oh, no, not long at all. I just got here." When we got to the locker room and I got changed into my workout clothes, I noticed Grant hadn't even started getting changed yet. "Did you forget something?" I asked. "Ah, no, don't worry, I'll be out in a bit. Don't wait for me." Grant said, not making eye contact. Piecing together what I had read in the journal and how he was acting, I got the impression he was too embarrassed by his physique to change in front of me. "Alright, I'll be waiting just outside of the locker room." I said. I then walked out of the room and onto the gym floor. I did a few stretches until Grant finally came out. Now in his workout clothes, Grant wore a grey t-shirt that was several sizes too large with shorts to match. The first station we went to was the squat rack. I decided to go first and loaded the bar up with a modest 150 lbs. I finished my set and swapped out with Grant who took a few plates off, setting the weight at 120 lbs. Halfway through his set, his legs began to tremble, and he was losing his breath. Grant tried getting one more rep in but couldn't without my help. Grant placed the weight back on the rack and turned towards me. "I'm so embarrassed. I can usually do twice that much, but for some reason I'm already tired." "Don't worry about it, it's probably just an off day." I said, trying to reassure him. In the back of my mind I was considering if this somehow was a product of what I wrote. The next station was the bench press. Grant insisted on going first, probably in an attempt at trying to redeem himself. He loaded up 110 lbs on the bar and got into position. The first few reps went smoothly, but just like the squats, Grant was losing his energy around the halfway point. While Grant began to struggle with his next reps, I was getting distracted by the results of Grant's workout. His shirt was already soaked with sweat resulting in the material clinging to his body. without the bagginess of the shirt to hide his body, I could now see that Grant had a hefty beer belly that jiggled while he strained with the weight. What was impressive however was the pump that Grant seemed to have going. While not very built at all, what he did have was being pushed to the max. His veins were visibly pulsing and becoming more visible with each rep. We had only been working out for about 10 minutes, but looking at Grant, one would assume he'd been here for a full workout already. If that wasn't enough, I looked down towards his legs and almost gasped from surprise. Grant had a raging hard-on. "H-Help" I finally heard Grant say. I looked down to see that Grant was barely keeping the bar off of his chest. "Oh shit, I'm so sorry!" I said as I grabbed the bar to help him. Grant gasped for air as he sat up. He then stood up to stretch himself out, but noticed he was at full-mast and quickly hunched over to try and hide it. "Are you alright?" I asked Grant, already knowing the answer. "I-I-I." Grant couldn't even finish his sentence he was so embarrassed. "Hey, it's alright, it happens all the time when you have an intense workout." "No, you don't understand." Grant said, shaking his head. "It's not just... that. It's my nipples too. They're so sensitive right now. I'm so horny right now, I can barely handle it. It's like I just got flooded with testosterone, everything feels like it'll set me off. This must be happening because of what I wrote. Grant is getting five times the amount of testosterone than normal from this workout, his body can't process it. "You know what, let's cut this workout short." I suggest to Grant. He just nods in response. In the locker room, we decide to just grab our stuff and go, rather than getting changed and showering. I can't put Grant through any more mental stress. We walk to the parking lot and Grant begins walking to his car. "Woah, Grant, where are you going?" I ask before he gets very far. "Home. There's no way someone as lame as me should be hanging out with someone as nice as you." Grant says, clearly upset. "Sure, the workout didn't really go too well, but we don't have to split up yet, do we? I mean, if you don't mind, I'd like to come over to your place." I suggest. Grant's mouth opens and shuts several times as he tries to say a response. "Are you serious? After how embarrassing I was, you'd still want to be seen with me, let alone come to my house?" "Of course, I'm not so shallow that something like that would bother me." "I guess if you really want to, then you can follow me." Grant says, an incredulous look on his face. A few minutes later I'm in my car following behind Grant to his place. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- When I pull up to Grant's house in the suburbs, all I can think of is that the journal is the real deal, whatever that entails. Grant steps out of his car and I notice that he hasn't gotten any softer since the gym. I pretend not to notice as he leads me through the front door of his house. His house is well decorated, with several paintings on the walls, and tasteful decor in each room. Grant continues taking me through the house until we reach the kitchen. "Damn man, this is a nice place." I can't myself. My tiny apartment doesn't even compare to this. "Thanks," Grant says bashfully, "Even if my work isn't the friendliest place, I guess it pays well." Grant waves an arm around the room. "Make yourself at home. If you need any food or drink, help yourself to the fridge. I'll be getting changed in my room upstairs, so I'll be a few minutes. If you need to use the washroom, it the first door on the left at the top of the stairs." Grant explains before leaving the room, half covering his crotch. I hear his footsteps thump off into the distance and then climb a flight of stairs. I look around the kitchen for a moment. The kitchen itself is probably a third of the size of my whole apartment. I decide to check the fridge more out of curiosity than hunger. The fridge opens to reveal a fully stocked inventory. While it is full to the brim, most of the food is instant premade dishes. If I had to guess from the lack of ingredients, I don't think Grant is much of a cook. After snooping around the kitchen for a minute, I decide that I should probably freshen up. I'm still wearing my workout clothes, so the least I could do is wash up. I follow the way I saw Grant walking before until I see a set of stairs leading to the second floor. Once I walk up the stairs, I see a long hallway with several doors on each side. As I'm walking to the first door to the left I hear a sound and I freeze in place. At first I'm unsure of what it was, but then I hear it again, this time clearly. It was a moan, and it sounded like it was coming from the closed room one door down from the washroom. I wait for a few more seconds until I hear the sound again and I take a step towards it. Before I go any further I contemplate whether I should really follow through with what I'm thinking right now. In just a few steps I'll be right outside the door that the moans are coming from. Whatever is happening in that room is probably private, that's why the door is closed. If it was so private, would Grant really be so obvious about it? I hear the moan again, and I feel so turned on I can't help but give my slowly rising cock a tug. That does it, I can't stand not knowing. I take the last few steps and stand directly up to the door. I grab the handle and slowly turn it. It's unlocked. I push slightly until a sliver of the room is revealed. The room is definitely a bedroom, but I can't see anything besides a bookcase. I push the door open more and more until I get a full view of the room. Sitting at the edge of a bed with his back to the door is Grant. His eyes are closed and his head is tilted upwards. He is completely nude and has his left hand on his left nipple and his right hand on his engorged dick. Every so often, he makes a subtle move. Ever so slightly he pinches his nipple or rubs his dick, letting out an extremely sexual moan. He's so on edge right now that the slightest touch is enough to push him closer to pure ecstasy. From my angle I can see his back tense with each moan. His back is covered in a light dusting of dark brown hair, now completely matted down by sweat. I can't resist the allure any longer. I silently walk into Grant's room. As I enter, a strong smell of Grant's sweat mixed with pure sex invades my nostrils. I breathe the scent in deeply as I walk towards Grant. I'm within arms reach of him after a few steps and he has yet to notice me. From this close, I can finally see Grant's cock in all it's glory. Grant is cradling the shaft between his thumb and his index and middle finger. The bulbous head is so filled with blood that it's almost purple, and the veins along the shaft pulse along with his heartbeat. Grant moves his fingers down the shaft an inch before groaning in sexual pleasure. Precum oozes out of the tip, slicking up the already moist cock head. The temptation is too much for me to resist. I lift my shirt off of my chest and toss it to the ground before I lunge head first at Grant's twitching rod. Before he has a chance to react, I've replaced his hand on his cock with my mouth. Grant screams in pleasure as his cock releases another spurt of precum. I can't even imagine how sensitive he must be to release this much precum from just a touch. I can feel the pulse of blood rushing through the cock as I push it deeper into my throat. The salty sweet taste is intoxicating and helps me relax my throat to better handle Grant's full size. While I continue to suck off Grant, I move my hands up his hairy body, exploring each nook and cranny of his pudgy body. Even with how out of shape he seems, I can feel strong muscles just underneath his fat. I look upwards to see Grant looking down at me, mouth open slightly, face twisted in pleasure. He's letting out a constant low growl. When we make eye contact he nods to me. I face back down towards his crotch to finish the job. My hands finally reach their destination at his hard nipples. I slowly begin rubbing them, while I continue deapthroating. Grant's growl begins rising in volume as he gets closer to climaxing. Finally, I pinch his nipples between my fingers at the same time as I clench my throat around his cock. "AAAAAAAAH YEEEEEEESSS!" Grant screams out as he reaches the peak. His cock gets to a new level of thickness as his cum pumps into my throat and into my stomach. His cock pumps and pumps, more and more. Grant keeps screaming. His climax is reaching heights he'd never even imagined. As I feel his seed filling me, I'm finally pushed over the edge as well. Grant's pure bliss was caused by me. Both from my actions right now and from the journal's effects. The idea that this much pleasure is even possible overloads my senses and I begin to cum. My shorts are completely soiled by the time that Grant and I fall from our high. I slowly release myself from Grant's cock as I let go of his nipples. He let's out a final grunt and falls backwards onto the bed. I stand up and peel my wet shorts off before climbing onto the bed beside Grant. We roll onto our sides and I begin spooning him. Seconds later, Grant has passed out. I follow suit and fall asleep right after him. I wake up in a daze. The smell of sex and cum still hangs in the air. The memories of the past events rush back to me and I smile. Grant is sound asleep, still next to me, now snoring lightly. I rub his back, being careful not to wake him, then I sit up to stretch my arms. As I'm reaching upwards with my right hand I notice I'm holding something. In my hand is Grant's black and white journal and mechanical pencil.
  8. muskymuscle

    Journey with Journals - Part 4 Added

    I suddenly feel like I should finish off the next chapter soon! Hmm...
  9. Part 1 Here's the first part of a story I quickly decided to whip up. It's mostly setup for later parts, but hopefully you'll enjoy it. As always, feedback is always appreciated. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Do you know how much it sucks losing your dream job? I poured my heart and soul into that company!" I say, words slurred by alcohol. My complaints are directed to the bartender behind the counter as I stare at my drink. "Hell, I moved to this city just for this job, I don't know anyone here." I look up at the bartender who is polishing a mug nonchalantly. His bearded face shows a hint of a smile as he raises a single eyebrow. I've been coming to this bar weekly since I moved here in the summer, but more recently I've been coming daily. I just barely notice as I slowly begin swaying from side to side in my chair. "Fine, I guess I know you now, but that's not the point! The point is that after just 3 months they tell me that they need to downsize AND I just so happen to be on the cut list! What am I going to do-" I'm cut off by the sensation of stomach acid coming up my throat. I cover my mouth with a hand and sit still waiting for the feeling to pass. Joe, the bartender, just laughs. "I think you've had too much to drink... again. You've been complaining about this for five days in a row now. As for what you're going to do now, that's simple. Get a new job. Luckily," Joe walks a few steps behind him to the bar wall and points to a Help Wanted sign on the wall, "we just so happen to be hiring." I begin shaking my head in protest, but quickly realize that sudden movements aren't doing me any favors. "I can't work in a bar, I'm a journalist! Besides the fact that I have no experience, it's not really my thing. I can't just-" I'm cut off once again by another wave of nausea. I let out a low groan. The room feels like it's spinning. "Alright, alright, get a move on to the restroom before you make a mess of my bar. And at least give the job some thought before you flat out deny it." Joe said with a frown. He then swipes my half empty cup and pours it out. I nod slightly and jog/trip my way to the restroom. The restroom is empty when I enter. I run over to a sink first to splash cold water on my face. I'd rather avoid vomiting all together if I can. The shock of the cold water grounds me somewhat. I stand with my hands gripping the sides of the sink for what seems like an hour, but is more likely a minute or two, until the restroom door opens. I check the sink mirror in front of me to see who just came in and my knees go weak. Walking behind me to the toilet stalls is one of the most muscular men I've ever seen. Truthfully I don't see many bodybuilder types around here, but this man was still above and beyond the norm. He was wearing a pair of jeans that barely seemed to contain his tree trunk legs, and a tailored white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone revealing his shelf-like pecs. I don't like to admit it but I get a bit grabby when I'm intoxicated, and the more I drink the more I want to grab, and tonight I've had a lot to drink. Once the man entered his stall, my drunk brain began scheming of any way to cop a feel of those massive muscles. I stood there staring at the stall from my vantage point at the sink mirror, and began waiting for my chance to act. As soon as I hear the creaking of the stall door opening, I turn around and wait for the mountain of a man to appear. Once he enters my sights I fake a fall towards his large body. My luck finally seems to be looking up as the man catches me in his arms. I take that moment to get a feel of any muscles I can reach, pretending to try and catch my balance. I get a hold of his back, traps, delts, biceps, and pecs before he finally pushes me off of him, his hands on my shoulders. "Woah, what the hell man, are you ok?" The bodybuilder says in a deep gravelly voice. I am in bliss right now. Not only did I just feel up this massive man, but now he's touching me too? Unfortunately, my happiness is short-lived as my nausea decides this is the perfect time to go into overdrive. I only managed a small, "Oh no," before spewing my dinner and copious amounts of booze onto the shirt of the man in front of me. The man yells a string of curse words as he tosses me to the side. I try to grab onto his hand before I fall to slow my descent, but he manages to slip his hand out of my grip. The sudden prat fall knocks the wind out of me and I am forced to put my head on the ground to catch my breath. I sit up slightly to see how the large man I just puked on was doing and almost gasped as I see that he has taken his shirt off to clean it in the sink. Watching his rippling back muscles move as he scrubs his shirt distracts me for a few moments until I notice a small weight in the hand I tried grabbing the man with. Looking down I see a leather bound journal and a black pencil in my hand. Where did this come from? The cover was blank besides a name, "Greg Carlson". I had no idea who that was, but was too drunk to think about it for too long. I flipped the journal open to random page near the middle and began reading it. "-graduated from Anderson County High School with a full-ride sports scholarship. Soon after entering University, became interested in bodybuilding and-" I looked up from the journal and towards the man standing a few feet away from me. Could this be his journal? I doubted that someone as masculine as him would be carrying around a journal of his life stories everywhere he went. Besides, the way it was written seemed more like a third-person view rather than a personal journal. I looked back at the journal and flipped to the first page. Instead of seeing more life events, I saw what seemed like in depth statistics of a person's body. The stats didn't stop with just weight and height however, they went super specific like individual finger lengths. Who keeps track of that? Another thing I noticed was a category for sexual orientation, which was filled in as straight. I barely had time to register my disappointment before I saw something far more interesting, a penis category. With a length of 4 inches and a girth of 3 inches, I felt kind of bad for the guy. If the muscle beast in front of me really was the owner of this journal and it was accurate, his dick, while not horribly small, would look ridiculously tiny in comparison to his massive body. Feeling naughty and a bit horny, I erased the numbers with the black pencil that I found with the journal and replaced them with 10 inches long and 8 inches in girth. Hopefully if he notices what I wrote he'll have a good laugh about it. I got up quickly and placed the journal and pencil down near the man while apologizing quietly. He glared at me as I rushed out of the restroom. Outside of the restroom, I let out a heavy sigh and walked back to the bar, head hung. "Have a bad time in there or something?" Joe asked, noticing my sullen return. "I... I may or may not have puked all over a dude in the restroom." I said, not making eye contact with Joe. Joe was silent for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. His laugh was infectious, and I couldn't help but join in. It was too ridiculous not too. "Shit, man, I'm not going to clean that up." Joe finally said after we stopped laughing. "Ha, luckily I think it pretty much all ended up on the guy and not the floor." I chuckled again before finally looking up at Joe with a grin. "Also, would this be a bad time to ask for that job?" "That was a quick change of heart, but I guess It's a good of a time as any. I can set you up a quick interview this week with the boss. Don't worry though, I'll be there too. You're basically guaranteed the job." As we continue discussing the job and the work it entailed, I notice the bathroom door opening and the man I had met in it exiting from within. He was wearing his shirt once again but now it was wet and basically see-through and his sculpted body was on display. At the very least there was no sign of the vomit I had covered him in. With a distressed look on his face the man kept adjusting his crotch. It was bulging a surprising amount for 4 inches, but I suppose it's all about how you display it. The man speed-walked his way past me without a second glance and left the bar. Joe didn't seem to notice as he continued his spiel on bartender etiquette. Unbeknownst to me, the journal I had found had completely disappeared without the man taking it. Things would soon start to get a bit hectic around here for me.
  10. muskymuscle


    Trade - Part 2 Here's the continuation of Will's story. My goal was to have more happen in the same amount of words and I think I accomplished that. Hopefully you'll enjoy some slightly more risque scenes this time. I have quite a bit more planned, so if you have any feedback let me know. __________________________________________________________________ I spent more time then I'm willing to admit admiring my new beard in the mirror. I poked and prodded my face and head, but I had no clue how this had happened. I went back to my bed to see if there was any trace of my hair, but there was nothing. Things can't just disappear, it's not scientifically possible. Still not able to wrap my head around my current situation, Tom popped into my thoughts again. Could he know something about what's going on? I picked my cellphone off my cabinet and unplugged it from it's charger. After flipping through my contacts for a second, I found Tom's entry and pressed dial. The phone rang and rang but there was no answer. Eventually it went to his voicemail. "Hi, you've reached Tom Grovellen. Please leave a m-" I hung up before the voicemail finished and tried again. One again there was no answer. I tried thinking of something to say that wouldn't make me sound crazy but I eventually decided not to leave a message and instead try again later. With my one lead put on hold I was now back at square one, confused. Weird things might be happening to me but time waits for no man. I reluctantly head back to the washroom to get ready for my weekend. I soon found that many daily activities are apparently much different with my new beard. My shower felt strange to say the least. The sensation of water running down my suddenly bald head was strangely nice. I quickly and awkwardly washed my beard for the first time before I finished showering. Getting dressed, my beard would get in my way and get caught and pulled from random movements. When I ate my breakfast I would sometimes end up with a mouth full of hair instead of food. While each of these instances were an annoyance, I let out a small smile each time since it was also a large reminder that I now had the beard of my dreams. I'm sure I'll get the hang of it eventually. After breakfast I gathered my gym supplies and headed for my car. Most of my weekend was open, but Saturday mornings were reserved for going to the gym. I'm not the most dedicated gym goer, but I recently made it a resolution for myself to get back into shape. I missed my last two sessions though, so I'll really have to make this one count. The drive into town was quick and like usual I arrive at the gym before the rush. I'm not a fan of crowds so early morning workouts like this are ideal for me. I walk into the gym and nod at the receptionist at the front desk. The young guy looks at me but before saying anything to me he gets a somewhat puzzled expression on his face. I guess he wasn't stuck between guessing if he recognized me or not. I don't blame him. I walk past and head to the men's locker room to get changed. Like the gym itself, the lockers are mostly empty. I place my gym back on the bench behind me, open up a nearby locker and begin getting changed. I begin by taking off my shirt. As soon as my shirt covers my head I feel something jab me in the stomach. "I'd recognize that fat stomach anywhere. So Willy finally decided to come back to the gym," A nearby voice calls out mockingly. I quickly pull my shirt the rest of the way off me to see who it is, but I can already guess. I look towards where the voice came from and see a man. He's wearing a white tank top and a pair of black gym shorts. He's shorter than me and stands at about 5'7" but he's more ripped than I've ever been and he knows it. My suspicions are dead on, I know him. His name is Carl and he's one of if not the cockiest people at the gym. Whenever he sees me at the gym, for whatever reason, he always ends up coming over and personally picking on me. His tanned pecs push against the fabric of his shirt as he stands there. Even with how much I dislike the guy, I can't help but admire how much effort he must have put into his time at the gym. He has a smirk on his face as if he caught me trying to be sneaky or something. He's holding a hand out with a finger extended, presumably what poked me, and flexing his bicep. "O-oh, you're not-" Carl begins once he sees my face. He leans towards me and squints, "Wait, yes you are! You are Willy, right? You look totally different than the last time I saw you, but I can tell. Were you wearing a wig this whole time or something?" He shoots off a barrage of questions as he stares at my head, grinning once more. "First of all it's just Will. Secondly, it's none of your business." I say as I turn back towards my gym back and continue getting changed. "Come on Willy, I haven't seen you in weeks and this is how you treat me?" I ignore him. Once I'm finished getting dressed I push my things into my locker and walk out of the locker room with Carl right behind me. I decide to start with free weights and head towards the back mirror wall of the gym. I pick up a pair of 30 pound dumbbells. "Woah there big guy! Don't overdo it and hurt yourself," Carl says sarcastically. He moves down the weight rack and picks up the 80 pound dumbbells. "I guess I'll stick around for a warm up." I try to focus on the weights, but I can see Carl staring at me in the mirror. In an effort to leave Carl behind, I put my weights back and quickly head for the treadmills. I don't look back but a few seconds later I hear the clang of weights hitting the rack. Damn, he's still following me. I set myself up at the nearest treadmill and begin a slow jog. Out of the corner of my eye I see Carl walk up to the machine directly to my right. Within seconds he's started sprinting. "What are you doing Willy? My dead grandmother can go faster than you!" I only grunt in reply. I don't want to give him the satisfaction of a genuine reaction, but inside I'm boiling with anger. "You can't get a body like this by doing the wimpy stuff you're doing." Carl says, continuing to pester me. I finally let a grimace show on my face for a second, but a second is all he needs. Seeing his actions taking root, he kicks his harassment up a notch. "I know you want to look like me, everyone does. Unfortunately for a fatass like you that's never-" "Hey!" A deep and imposing voice interrupts Carl. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Surprised, both Carl and I stop our treadmills and turn around to see a large man glaring at Carl. He was wearing what must be an XXL t-shirt, but filled it out with a physique that was somewhere between powerlifter and bodybuilder. His face was heavily stubbled. The sides of his head are shaved and he has a sort of messy faux hawk hairstyle. His arms are heavily tattooed and he has a generally menacing air to him. He walks closer towards me but keeps his eyes on Carl. "You alright?" The stranger asks me. Before I can respond Carl interjects, "Don't worry man, we're just having some fun" "Really? It didn't look or sound like it to me." The stranger says, crossing his arms. "Now why don't you leave this man alone?" He adds, waving an arm as if to shoo Carl away. "Ha! Fine. Get saved like the princess you are. See you around Willy." I watch Carl scoffs and head off to another section of the gym. I let out a deep breath I didn't know I was holding and turn towards my savior. "That guy seems like a total dick." The stranger says. His expression softens and he extends a hand. "I'm Frank. Don't listen to anything that guy was saying. Anyone brave enough to better themselves without hurting others is good in my books." I take his rough calloused hand in mine and shake it. "Thanks for that. I'm Will." I can feel Frank's raw strength through the handshake alone. "Does that guy bother you often?" Frank asks. "Carl? Pretty much every time I see him," I say, nodding my head. "Although, I bet if I looked half as tough as you he'd leave me alone." "Maybe, but I'd like to believe that you'd be able to handle it yourself if you stand your ground. Most gymrat bullies can't handle confrontation." "I... I guess I get what your saying. Still, I'd gladly trade a bit of this fat and trade it for some muscle." I say, grabbing my stomach and jiggling it a bit. "If that's how you feel then you better start getting serious about working out." Frank says decisively. I hang my head slightly. "Could- would you- can-" I struggle to find the courage to ask for help. I take a deep breath, look Frank straight in the eyes, and try again. "Would you mind partnering with for the rest of my workout? I could really use the encouragement and I'm a bit afraid Carl will come back." Frank responds with a single nod and says, "Don't expect me to go easy on you though." I spend the next hour going through the hardest workout of my life. Thanks to Frank's frequent words of confidence I make it through without giving up. Between sets Frank and I get to know each other a bit more. Frank is apparently transitioning from being a full-time strongman to a first time bodybuilder. "Lifting heavy stuff is fun and all, but I want to see what I can really look like, y'know?" Frank explains passionately. I only somewhat understand what he's talking about, but the amount of emotion he displays on the subject really cements his desires to me. I eventually reach the end of my workout and thank Frank. "Honestly Frank, thank you. You're really inspiring me to do my best." I say. The words keep spewing out of my mouth. "I know that sounds cheesy, but it's true." "Don't worry about it," He says with a shrug. "I just moved to town a few days ago, so having someone to talk to is nice. Actually, why don't we exchange numbers? If you ever want to workout together again, give me a call." I agree and we swap info. "I've got a bit to go for my own workout, so I guess I'll see you later." Frank smiles and offers a fist which I gladly bump with my own. He then heads back through the gym as I turn towards the lockers. At my locker I grab my towel and walk towards the showers. The showers are my least favorite part of the gym. The showers are completely open with little to no privacy for the patrons, not that most people seem to care. This is, however, just another reason I like to come early to the gym. Usually, by the time I'm done my workout the majority of people have just begun theirs, leaving the showers free. Today however, it seems like I went a bit over my usual time working out with Frank. Men are lined under the shower heads on the walls leaving only the standalone shower-towers in the center. I get undressed and hang my clothes and towel on a nearby rack. I try to soap up and clean off as quickly as I can, but I notice someone behind me getting undressed. A tanned and heavily muscled body walks into my view and stops at the shower station next to mine. "Fancy meeting you here Willy." Fuck. I try to ignore the fact that Carl is standing in the nude beside me and I say nothing. Instead, I just continue to wash off. "What? Speechless over my perfect body?" Carl says, attempting to goad me into making a reaction. He flexes his arms and bounces his pecs slightly, taunting me. Carl begins soaping himself up. I peer over at him at just the wrong time to see him soaping up his dick. He sees me look over at him. "Oh, you like this?" He says quiet enough for only me to hear. Discreetly, he grabs his dick and waves it at me. I can't help myself and look directly at it. It's big, at least nine inches and thick too. "And this is just when it's soft." I quickly jerk my eyes away. I can feel my cheeks grow hot from embarrassment. I can't believe I just checked out another man's junk. I sense Carl move closer towards me and I feel a small flare of pain on my dick. "Ow, shit!" I yelp, bending over in pain. He just flicked my dick! A few men turn to see what the cause of the exclamation was. "Nothing to see here folks, just keep moving" Carl attempts his best cop impression and turns back to me. In a quiet voice once again, he says, "Is that all of little Willy? No wonder you were staring, mines at least double the size!" Carl laughs. I'd like to say I'm a grower, but that would be a lie. I'm four inches on a good day, with maybe an added half inch hard. Carl's comments finally become too much for me to contain. "If I could add half the size of that dick and didn't have some of this excess weight I'd probably not be in this mess." I whisper under my breath. I begin mentally preparing myself for some quick retorts. "What'd you just say?" Carl asks. He heard me, but not the words I said. I immediately regret saying anything. "Nothing," I murmur. Sorry Frank, maybe I'll stand up for myself next time. Before Carl can press me further, I finish my shower, grab my things and speed walk back to my locker. I hastily get changed, but before leaving I go to one of the weighing scales. It's become a sort of end of workout ritual for me to weigh myself. It's a number I can grasp that directly corresponds with my progress. When I last checked I was at 221 pounds. I stepped on the scale. 223. Dammit! I gained two pounds. I guess I really do need to lay off the beers and junk food a bit harder. Disheartened by my encounters with Carl and learning I gained a few pounds, I slinked to my car and headed home. On my way home I stopped at the supermarket to get groceries. I made a conscious effort to get healthier food, but couldn't stop myself from grabbing a few beers as well. Once I made it home, I could feel the effects of my workout with Frank. I was sore all over and didn't want to move any more. After I put my groceries away, I sink into the couch in front of my TV and took out my cellphone. I scrolled through my contacts. Seeing Tom and Frank's numbers I smiled. I may not be doing great with my health goals but at least I seem to be on a roll making some new friends. I try to phone Tom once again, but still there's no response. This time I leave a message for him to call me back. I scratch my beard. I'm still not used to the sensation. Not wanting to move, I wasted the rest of the day watching dumb reality shows and competitive cooking, anything to distract from my aching muscles. Eventually I got too tired to get up from the couch and go to my bed and instead fell asleep sitting there. That night I had more strange dreams. The first thing I could recall was Frank smiling at me. The next was Carl standing in front of me buck naked. I awoke with a groan. I wasn't feeling as sore as before my sleeping position surely hadn't helped. I felt somewhat bloated but it didn't feel bad. My shirt also felt a bit loose, but maybe that was just because I stretched it by wearing it overnight. I stood up and nearly stumbled forward. My center of balance felt off, I felt lighter than normal. I walked to my washroom where had a mini electric weight scale. Maybe I dehydrated myself last night and lost a bit of water weight or something, I think to myself as I step on the scale. The numbers take a second to calculate but when the result finally shows I'm shocked. 211 pounds. That can't be right, I couldn't have lost 12 pounds overnight. Sure my workout was intense, but this isn't possible. I hop off the scale and lift my shirt only to be shocked once more. My beer belly, which was very prominent yesterday was now just a small hint of fat. Not only that, but my abs were protruding slightly. I didn't just lose weight, I gained muscle. The thought of getting my athletic build back was kind of arousing and my dick began to wake itself up. my crotch felt oddly crowded and when I looked down to inspect it I was greeted by an unfamiliar bulge. Not sure if I could take any more shock, I slowly began to pull my pants down. I gasped, something I seem to be doing a lot of lately. Peering into my pants I could already tell my dick was much bigger than usual. I push my pants the rest of the way and out flops and unfamiliar sight attached to my body, a long and thick dick. A quick estimate puts it at roughly eight inches. Another impossibility. People don't just grow four inches of dick! I shove my newly large member back into my pants and head back to my living room. I begin pacing back and forth trying to recall recent events that could have brought these changes on. My mind races until I remember the words I said to Tom two days ago, "I would absolutely trade my head of hair for that beard." After that was when I had those dreams of him and woke up bald and with a beard that looked just like his. Suddenly the pieces in my mind began to click together. Could what I'm saying be coming true? I suddenly recall similar interactions with both Frank and Carl. I had strange dreams of them too. It had to be connected! There was only one way to find out. I had nothing else to do today so a little experimenting could fit right into my schedule!
  11. muskymuscle


    Thanks for the encouragement, I'll try to get the next part out soon!
  12. muskymuscle


    Trade - Part 1 Here's a silly story I started that's inspired by Alakazam1988's story of the same name. This is the first story I've written, so any insight is greatly appreciated. I wrote most of the story around 3:00 in the morning so excuse any blatant spelling errors. This took more time than I was expecting, so kudos to all you story writers out there, this isn't easy. If there's any interest, I'll continue the story. __________________________________________________________________ In the quiet dark of the early Friday morning I stare blankly at the light fixture embedded in my bedroom ceiling. I know I only have a few minutes before my alarm goes off, but I can't bring myself to get out of bed while most people would still be sleeping. Three minutes later and I hear the familiar beeping of the digital clock on my nightstand urging me to get on with my daily routine. I reach out through sheer habit and deactivate the clock. It reads 4:30 am. I let out a small sigh as I swing my legs out from under the covers and over the edge of my bed. I toss the warmth of my cotton blanket aside and lurch my heavy frame off of the bed. I really need to start eating healthier, I think to myself as I head towards the washroom. As I flick on the light in the washroom I take a quick glance at myself in the mirror above the sink. As I'm only wearing pajama bottoms, my wide torso is bare, exposing a slowly developing paunch with a sparse and uneven dusting of body hair. Hints of abs long forgotten can be seen if I flex hard enough, but doing so quickly leaves me out of breath. My arms are somewhat more impressive. They show little sign of definition, but thanks to being one of the few muscles I regularly workout, they are bigger than your average schmuck's. My eyes reach my face. My dark brown hair is rather thick and on the shorter side of the spectrum, to which I usually "style" by quickly running my hand through it and pushing it to one side. I have a square jaw, which I've been told makes me look manly, that I am rather happy about. What I'm not quite so happy about is what I try to pass off as facial hair on that square jaw of mine. I sport a sad attempt at a goatee, the only thing I can remotely grow on my face. Curse you genetics! I can't say I'm very proud of the state my body is in, but I choose to blame my lack of free time, regardless of how true that is. This is however, a daily event for me, so I quickly get on with getting ready for the day. After a quick shower I brush my teeth then head back to my room to get changed into my uniform. I take out a blue ensemble from my closet and lay it out across my bed. I slip on a pair of blue shorts and a blue shirt. I then pick up my hat, blue of course, before walking to the kitchen. A bright red sewn on badge of the post office that I work for stand out on each item of clothing. I have a quick bowl of cereal before I gather my things and head out of my apartment. I briskly walk down the steps of my building to warm myself up for the day before I reach the ground floor and get into my car. The drive to the post office doesn't take long, especially not this early in the morning and since I'm a bit early today so I decide to take a scenic route. I live in a medium sized city with several suburbs surrounding it, some of which are actually quite pleasant to pass through. I decide on a route that passes directly through one of these neighborhoods and I let my mind begin to wander. The signs of spring have begun to show as new leaves push out from branches and the once yellow grass has begun to get it's green back. I notice several for sale signs outside some of the newer houses and can't help but feel jealous for anyone that can afford to live here. Sure it's not the most lofty of goals but honestly, I wouldn't mind settling down in the suburbs. I'd have more room for my things. Maybe I'd have nice neighbors. Or maybe- Oh shit, a biker! I snap back to my senses when I notice a biker just ahead of me. I swerve out of the way just in time to see the biker glaring at me and raising a questioning hand, a universal signal meaning, "What the hell man?" Now completely shocked out of my stupor, I keep my eyes on the road as I hurry towards the post office. Once I reach the parking lot of the post office I notice a tiny red Toyota Corolla already parked. As usual, no matter how early I get here, my boss manages to get here earlier. I park next to my boss. The chill of the morning air nips at my exposed calves. It may be spring, but winter has yet to fully depart it seems. I shiver and quickly head into the building. Now inside, I put my hat on and head to the back of the room, past the reception counter. The door to the mail room is open and I walk right in. Shelves of packages and mail to be delivered line the walls of the small room. I half expected to see Greg, my boss, still doing inventory but he's not here. Knowing how early he gets in, he's probably finished that half an hour ago. I see the light on in the break room and walk over. I peer into the room and see Greg sitting at the break table going over a stack of papers. He senses someone watching him and looks up. "Ah, Bull, you're earlier than usual today," Greg says. I take a quick look at my watch. 5:42 am. "You're one to talk," I reply. "I... I almost ran over a biker this morning so I decided to just head straight here." "What? Are you going to be alright to drive the van today?" Greg asked, raising a questioning eyebrow. "Of course, I just hadn't fully woken up yet." I say, trying to reassure him. Greg just shrugged. An awkward silence hangs in the air. "And you can stop calling me Bull. I didn't want that nickname fifteen years ago, and I don't want it now." I blurt out, desperately trying to change the subject. I had gotten the nickname Bull for several reasons as a sophomore in high school. The first was when I was on the rugby team. I was an early bloomer and had my growth spurts early. Because of this, I was the widest guy on the team for a brief time. It didn't last long and I was quickly dwarfed by many of the other guys, but the team had already begun calling me Bull by that time. Another reason is one I wished people would forget. During my time on the rugby team a rumor went around that I was sleeping around with numerous girls in our grade as well as a few from the grade above. Despite my protests and denial, the rumor spread and the nickname stuck. The rumor even took a small detour and claimed that I had a huge package (mailman pun fully intended). I felt strangely flattered by this, but once my girlfriend at the time heard about it she scoffed, saying, "If only they knew how small it really was." Luckily, she wasn't the kind of gal to throw me under the bus for silly rumors, so she let it be. "C'mon, Bull fits you fine," Greg says, a smile forming on his face. "You look nothing like a 'William' to me. Besides, I wasn't the one to start calling you Bull, it was Coach D." I mentally let out a sigh of relief as we get back into our normal conversation topics. Greg stands up from the table and stretches his back out. Greg is taller than he looks and is at least a good half foot taller than me. Back in high school I was the taller of the two of us at 5'8" but part way through college he grew past the 6' mark. Since he was a year ahead of me in school I didn't really get to know him outside of rugby, but we shared the occasional nod when we passed each other in the hall. Nowadays however, Greg was one of the only people left that I could remotely call a friend. The conversation meanders for a few more minutes before Greg gets back into business mode. "It looks like you'll be pretty busy today. We have quite a few packages that need to be delivered and also a special delivery that needs to be sent ASAP." Greg says. "A special delivery? What is it?" I ask. We don't usually get many special deliveries, and the ones we do get are usually picked up at our office. "No clue. The only thing I know is that they are paying top dollar to get this sent as quickly as we can. Once you're ready to go I'll have you head out right away." We spend the next half hour loading up the delivery truck and sorting out paperwork before I'm finally ready to leave. I settle into the driver's seat of the truck and boot up my handy little electronic delivery tablet. I scroll past the usual delivery routes and check the special delivery information. The destination is a business building in the commercial district of the city. I turn the truck on and begin my day of deliveries. It's not long before I'm parked in front of my destination, a large nondescript concrete skyscraper. I check my tablet to go over the details once more. "Please hand deliver this to room 376A on the 26th floor. If no one is there to accept the package, please place it through the slot on the side of the door." Simple enough. I check myself in the rear-view mirror and adjust my hat. I grab the package and place it carefully into my delivery bag and head towards the building. As I approach the building I see the glass entry doors with their own doormen. This was already way above my usual daily fancy intake, but the reception room that I next found myself was even more exquisite. Marble floors and pillars, a large fountain, exotic potted plants, granite statues. I was so overwhelmed it took me a second to get my bearings. Business men and women walked into the building, unfazed by the grandeur, probably used to the sights from seeing it daily. I walk to the reception desk and ask for directions to the room I'm looking for. The lady behind the counter politely gives me directions which I quickly commit to memory. I thank them and head to the elevators. I see an open elevator and quicken my pace. The doors begin to close. "Someone hold the door!" I call out to the passengers inside. Luckily someone is kind enough to stop the closing doors and lets me on. I thank them and push the button for the 26th floor. The passengers slowly file out of the elevator every couple of floors until there is only me and another man. I take a quick look at him. He's completely bald and wearing a gray business suit that fits him very well and is holding a briefcase in one hand. He's staring at the floor number display as it slowly increases, but what really catches my attention is his beard. Never before have I seen such a well maintained beard in real life. I can only see a slight angle from where I'm standing behind him, but I can tell that it's magnificent. I feel a pang of jealousy for the second time today. I almost feel embarrassed by having such lackluster facial hair in the presence of this stranger's beard. I guess this is what you'd call beard envy. I look at the floor number display. 16... 17... I try to look at the panel of buttons for the floors to see where the stranger is getting off, but he's blocking my line of sight. I silently hope that his floor isn't coming up any time soon so I can admire his beard a bit longer. 18... 19... After passing the nineteenth floor, the elevator comes to an abrupt halt. The stranger and I stand in silence for a minute before we realize the elevator just broke down. Crap, this isn't what I meant when I wanted more time. I have packages to deliver. Another minute passes and to my surprise, the stranger turns around and breaks the silence. "What a way to start the day. Hopefully it doesn't take too long to get this fixed" He says in a deeper voice than I was expecting. I'm a bit surprised at his initiative, "Yeah. It's a good thing I don't have claustrophobia or this situation would be a lot worse," I reply, lamely attempting to make a joke. The stranger cracks a smile, surprising me once again. We talk for a bit and eventually introduce ourselves. "I'm Tom, I work on the twenty-third floor," my new acquaintance introduces himself and sticks out his hand. "I'm Will. I'm a mailman if you couldn't already tell," I say, gesturing to my getup as I accept his handshake. More time passes and we continue our polite conversation. Eventually a speaker crackles to life. "We're sorry for the inconvenience. The elevator seems to have encountered a technical problem. Help will arrive within the hour." Tom and I share a look and resign to a long wait. It doesn't take us long to decide to sit down. Tom sits on his briefcase as a cushion and I sit on my delivery bag. We spend the next hour getting to know each other and talking about random things. Another announcement comes through the speaker at the hour mark. "Help is taking longer than we expected to arrive. Please accept our deepest apologies." "Damn. I guess that means I'm missing my meeting," Tom says. While we talk I spend most of my time trying to discreetly ogle at Tom's beard, but eventually he notices my staring. "What, do I have something in my beard?" He asks, one hand reaching towards his beard. "Oh sorry, no. I-" I can feel my cheeks begin to redden. "I was just... admiring your beard," I admit. He lets our a hearty laugh. "Don't be sorry. I spend a lot of time making it look good so I'm glad someone besides myself can appreciate it." "Well I've got to say, I wish I could grow a beard like yours," I say. "I can't help you there, but really, you shouldn't worry about it," Tom says. He brings his right hand to his bald head and slowly rubs it. "I'd rather have a head of hair any day of the week over a beard." My eyes widen at his statement. "What? Honestly, I would absolutely trade my head of hair for that beard," I say, astonished by Tom's words. "Ha, I would if I could. Too bad it doesn't work that way." We talk about our follicle woes for a while longer before the conversation naturally shifts topics. "So, why are you wearing shorts in this cold weather?" Tom asks, poking my bare calf with his finger. "It's mandatory unfortunately. The union has a strict dress code that I need to follow." I reply. I talk about my work for a short while until we hear the sound of what we assume is the elevator maintenance coming to our rescue. "I guess this is where we're set free?" Tom says jokingly. "It was nice meeting you. We should go out for drinks some day if you're interested?" I agree and we exchange our contact info. We stand up and pick our makeshift cushions off the floor of the elevator. A few moments later the elevator rises to the next floor and the doors open. Several men in suits come forward once the doors are clear. "We're deeply sorry Mr. Grovellen. We had to postpone your meeting with the prospective investors. We'll have the last elevator worker reprimanded for his shoddy procedure checks," The nearest man says to Tom. "Don't worry about it. I got to have some much needed time socializing rather than just working all day." Tom says. He turns towards me and sees my confused expression. "What? Did I not mention that I own this building?" He says with a grin. My jaw visibly dropped. Tom laughs as he waves goodbye. "I hope to see you again soon." The elevator doors close once more and I am left to reevaluate my chance encounter. I don't get much time to mull the experience over however as I finally reach my floor. I step out of the elevator and begin searching for room 376A. Most of the rooms look the same and when I peer through windows it reveals that this floor seems to be focused on research of some kind. It takes me a few minutes but I find the room I'm searching for. A quick look through the window in the door shows that the lights are off. I knock on the door and wait a few minutes just to be sure. I look beside the door and find a small mail slot. I open up my delivery bag and take out the package. When I get the package out of the bag I gasp. The small box has been squashed and a slight liquid stain is visible on one side. I completely forgot about it when I used the bag as a cushion. I try to repair the package as best I can, but there isn't much I can do. Eventually I give up and just hope that the contents can be easily replaced. I push the package through the slot with a weight of guilt on my shoulders and head back to the elevators. I choose a different one from when I arrived, no longer trusting it. Once I arrive back at the delivery truck I quickly set up my route for the day before heading out once more. Several hours later I return to the post office. "What the hell took you so long?" Greg says once he sees me entering. I fill him in on getting trapped in the elevator, but conveniently omit the part about meeting Tom. "Well it's already the end of your shift, so I guess you can leave." Greg shakes his head. "Have a good weekend." I eagerly agree to the offer and head home, exhausted from the long day. Once I'm home I toss off my uniform and change back into a pair of pajama pants. I grab a beer and a microwave meal and have my dinner. Afterwards I watch Netflix for an hour or so before my eyelids can barely stay open. I stumble into bed and fall asleep before my head hits the pillow. That night I had several strange dreams, but the only thing I could clearly remember from them was imagery of Tom, the man I met in the elevator. I awoke the next morning with a shiver, my head felt unusually cold. I opened my eyes to see if I left my window open but it was clearly shut. I reached up to feel my head and yelped in surprise. I only felt smooth skin. I shot straight up and began feeling more of my scalp. I was completely and utterly bald. Eventually I began to notice that while the top of my head was cold, my face was rather warm, not to mention itchy. I slowly moved my hands to my cheeks. "No way." I had a beard and a thick one by the feel of it. I jumped out of bed and sped towards my washroom mirror. It took all my willpower not to break out into a sprint. I reached the washroom and looked in the mirror. It took me a second to recognize my own face, but that's exactly what it was. What stared back at me in the mirror was clearly still me but my hair had completely disappeared and I had grown an epic beard overnight. A nagging thought came to my mind. I recognized my new look. I suddenly realized that I had the exact same beard that Tom had, thick, dark brown, and amazingly maintained. I was also bald just like him. How did this happened? Am I hallucinating or is this a dream? I pinched my arm to check. The pain is crystal clear. This is real. "Wow." This is the single craziest thing that's ever happened to me, but I can't help but admire my new looks. I had accomplished one of my secret life goals of growing an actual beard in a single night. I need to know how this happened, but first, let me check out my new beard from another angle.

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