A Day in the Life

I woke up in a cheap motel, somewhere off the interstate. Hungover, disoriented, and desperate for a good cup of coffee. There was a continental breakfast in the lobby – stale donuts and orange juice from a can.

Sometimes it’s private jets and tropical islands, but just as often... this is my life.

I was on my way through the middle of nowhere. A little town in southern Montana where more people have hunting licenses than college degrees. It was a lot like home.

The motel shower alternated between scalding and freezing. I unwrapped that little bar of soap and tried not to flinch every time the temperature changed. I needed to get clean, get caffeinated, and get on the road. I had three hundred miles to my destination, and I was eager to cover the distance.

I was pulling on my jeans when the guy in my bed stirred. I’m in my forties now, grizzled and greying. He looked about twenty-five with big heavy pecs and the face of an angel.

“Mmm...” he moaned, reaching over and finding me gone. “Do you really have to leave?”

“Sorry boy,” I chuckled, taking a long look and savouring it. He was propped up on his elbows, his messy brown hair and chiselled jaw making him look like every quarterback I’d masturbated over in college. I pulled on my t-shirt and grinned. “The time has come to sing a traveling song.”

“Huh?” he asked, staring at me with utter confusion.

You can’t be beautiful and brilliant – it’s a law of the universe. At least... it’s a law of my universe. If I had the time, I’d remake every guy into a basic bitch like this one.

“I gotta go,” I shrugged. “But I got you a present.”

I pulled a wrapped package out of my suitcase. He caught it with athletic ease and tore into the wrapping.

“Dude...” he grinned, holding out the pair of silky pink briefs. “These are so totally me! I’m like... gonna wear them today!”

He hopped out of bed and slipped them up over his meaty legs. His cock was big and obvious in the pouch, and his ass was barely contained. Looking at those two huge globes... man, I almost wanted to fuck him again.

There’d be another guy down the road. No reason to fall in love.

Maybe it’s cliche. I’d rolled into town. Had a few drinks. Hooked up with the bartender and left in the morning.

Of course, when I met him last night, he’d been older and wiser. He’d had greying hair and a book to pass the time. I’d done my thing, and now he was young and dumb and gay as hell.

His bar was about to get a lot more popular.

--------------------

My podcast cut out and my phone started ringing.

“Hello?” I said, picking up the line. I didn’t recognize the number, but that doesn’t mean a thing. My agent uses a burner phone.

Yeah, guys like me have agents. When you’re always on the road, you need someone to book your next gig.

“Jake?” his voice crackled through the car speakers. “Where are you at bud?”

“Montana,” I said simply. “On my way to the job.”

“I really hate to do this,” he said. “But I need you to handle a maintenance request today too. You remember that guy from Bozeman last year? I guess his husband is having buyers remorse, wants you to swing by and make a few adjustments. I figured since you’re already in the neighbourhood...”

I didn’t remember the guy from Bozeman. I do hundreds of jobs every year... like some dude from Bozeman was gonna stand out?

“I can’t,” I whined. “Alan, you know I’m totally booked up right now. My next open slot is in... what... December? And I don’t do maintenance.”

“Sorry bud,” he sighed. “I already promised you’d be there. Come on, it’s barely a detour, just swing by and do your magic. It won’t take an hour.”

I rolled my eyes. Sure, I was ahead of schedule, but I was hoping to have a chill day. Maybe eat a decent meal for once.

“Fine,” I snapped. “Text me the details.”

--------------------

It was a little before lunchtime when I pulled into the driveway in Bozeman. The house looked sort of familiar. Maybe the guy would too.

I rang the doorbell and waited. And waited. And waited.

Finally I heard footsteps hurrying to the door.

“Hey brah!” a blond with big muscle tits shouted when he opened the door. He was almost totally naked, dressed in a red speedo and a tan. “I’m like... uh...”

“Brody, let our guest in,” I heard behind him. A tired looking man, somewhere in his mid-thirties, came up behind him.

“Right!” the blond shouted. “I’m Brody!”

“Good to meet you Brody,” I chuckled. Definitely my handiwork. Some of the guys in my field like to leave the basics intact – name, manners, basic computer skills...

I wipe it all.

“Sorry,” the exhausted husband said. “We were just in the pool. Brody likes to swim a couple hundred laps every day.”

“I wanna move to Cali and surf!” Brody grinned. “Daddy won’t let me... but he bought me a pool!”

“Why don’t you go swim some more?” I suggested. “I’d like to talk with...”

“Lincoln,” the husband said. “Go on Brody, I’ll come watch you later.”

“And then we can fuck!” Brody cheered.

He ran for the back of the house, leaving a trail of damp footprints in the carpet.

--------------------

At least Lincoln had good coffee. We sat down at the dining room table. The whole house had a western vibe, like it had been lifted straight out of Yellowstone. Rich hardwood and rough hewn stone.

“You can see what I’m dealing with,” he said, slumped in his chair. “When we bought the himbo package last year, I knew you were going to make Brad into a carefree stud, but I didn’t expect him to be so...”

He paused, grasping for the word.

“Dumb?” I asked. “A total fuckin’ moron?”

“Yeah, that sums it up,” Lincoln growled accusingly. “I wanted my husband to get interested in sex again. Loosen up a little at parties. You turned him into a walking parody.”

“That’s what you asked for,” I said. “I looked up your file on the way over here. You asked for a surfer bro. Blond hair. Blue eyes. A porn star body and a fuckboy mind.”

“I never said he should be an idiot,” Lincoln shot back. “He can barely read. He refuses to wear shirts. He wants to fuck seven or eight times a day!”

“And that’s too much?” I asked.

“I want a husband,” he spat. “Look, just do whatever you do and change him, okay? I’m fine with his body, but I want you to fix his brain. Make him... interesting again. And for the love of god, turn down his sex drive. I’m happy to go once every day or two... but I just can’t keep up!”

I tried not to roll my eyes. Everyone wants the fantasy, but nobody’s happy when they get it.

Well, at least I could fix it.

“Alright Lincoln,” I said, putting on my most soothing tone. “Let’s talk about specifics. We’ll start with the physical. You’re happy with the blond hair?”

“Yes,” he said with annoyance. “I told you, you can leave the body. It’s the mind that’s a problem.”

“It’s important that we talk this through,” I said condescendingly. “There’s a process. You like the blond hair?”

“Yeah, I like blond hair,” he said. “His is almost too blond.”

“So maybe something dirty blond?” I suggested. “With clear green eyes?”

“Sure,” he said. “Whatever.”

“And that exaggerated swimmers body?” I asked. “The big wide lats, the over muscled pecs, the glutes that can propel you through the water like a rocket?”

“Yeah,” Lincoln said with a slight smile. “You nailed the look.”

“Good,” I nodded, weaving patterns in the air with my hand. “We left him some hair, right? A trimmed bush and a little bunny trail?”

“Yeah,” Lincoln reflected. “If I was doing it again... yeah, maybe let’s get rid of that. Smooth all over.”

“Except on the head,” I suggested. “And even then... what, short and spiky? Maybe a fade on the sides? Brody’s got those surfer curtains going on... but maybe you prefer a less ’90’s look?”

“Yeah,” Lincoln said distantly. “It’s time for a change...”

“Exactly,” I smirked. “You said Brody never wears a shirt. How do you feel about tank tops?”

“They’re sexy,” Lincoln said honestly. His voice sounded distant and far off. “Especially those deep ones...”

“And you don’t like speedos?” I said. “What kind of swimsuit do you wear?”

“Uh... just shorts,” Lincoln answered.

“Little white shorts?” I suggested. “Mesh, so we can see your cock?”

“No,” he said. He was deep in my trance now. Starting to realize what was happening to him. “I wear... I...”

“What do you wear Lincoln?”

“Little white shorts...” he moaned. “Mesh... so everyone can see my cock...”

“What else?” I asked. He was in control now. At least... with a little guidance from me.

“Deep cut tank tops...” Lincoln whispered. “So you can see my big round pecs...”

“And what else?” I asked. “You sound like a surf bro... what does a surf bro wear?”

“A puka shell necklace,” he gasped. “And flipflops and sunglasses...”

I moved my hand in time to his words, weaving them into the spell.

There was a mirror in the hallway. I told him to stand up and he trailed along behind me, like a drunk trying to find his way home. When he walked in front of the mirror he gasped.

His reflection was exactly what we’d described. A muscular surfer bro with dirty blond hair and beautiful green eyes. A sunfaded pink stringer tank over a pair of mesh short-shorts. His stubby cock was clearly visible through the fabric. There were puka shells around his neck, and a pair of aviators hanging from his neckline.

“No way...” Lincoln breathed as he stared at his image. Outside the mirror he was the same old man – tired and out of shape and overdressed.

“Look at that guy,” I told him. “Does that guy read books?”

“Stop...” Lincoln said, trying to fight against me. “Stop.... I... don’t...”

“Don’t worry,” I said quickly. “That’s not you. That’s Link... he’s a surfer bro, just like Brody. Does Brody read books?”

“Nah...” Lincoln said, watching Link mouth the word along with him. “Brody doesn’t read books.”

“What about Link?” I smirked. “Does Link read books?”

“Nah...” Link said, watching Lincoln echo his words. “Link don’t read books either brah...”

“He doesn’t read at all,” I suggested. “Isn’t that right?”

“Fuck no brah...” Link said in the mirror. Lincoln’s lips moved in unison. “Reading’s for nerds brah...”

“And you’re a surfer,” I guided him. “Not a nerd...”

“That’s right brah...” they said together. It was impossible to tell who was in the lead. Lincoln and Link were neck and neck. “I’m a surfer...” they drawled.

“A surfer can barely remember their own name,” I told them. “A total idiot who loves to surf and swim and fuck...”

“Yeah brah...” they said. “Love to fuck...”

“Of course Link does,” I said, drawing a line between them. “After all... he’s got a huge cock... a massive pair of balls... a sex drive that just won’t quit...”

In the mirror Link’s package bulged out. The mesh was straining to hold him in. I saw him lick his lips, looking out of the mirror at Lincoln and I. Looking past us to the world.

“Link looks happy,” I whispered to Lincoln. “Don’t you wanna be Link?”

“No...” he said, holding on with his last bit of strength.

“You wanna be Link,” I commanded.

The last bit of resistance went out of Lincoln. He licked his lips and stared.

“Yeah...” Lincoln admitted. “Yeah... I wanna be Link...”

Everybody does.

There was no flash of light. No twisting of reality. Just a blink – one moment he was Lincoln, and the next...

Tongue out and biceps flexed. Cock hard and straining against the mesh. Pecs so big they deserved their own zip code. Eyes simple and untroubled.

“What’s your name?” I asked him.

“Uh...” he said, leaving his mouth open as his mind ground to a halt. “I’m... like...”

“You’re Link,” I offered.

“Yeah brah,” he said, giving a carefree laugh. “I’m Link!”

“Let’s go find Brody,” I suggested.

--------------------

I was speeding through Montana, two hours behind schedule. My agent thinks that a stop like this is quick – but real art takes time, and Link was a piece of art.

Brody adapted to his new husband quickly. I’d left them fucking on a pool chair. Link hadn’t even opened up the gift I left.

I wish I could have stayed and help test out Link’s new sex drive, but there were miles to go before I slept. A new client was waiting for his new life and I hate to keep people waiting.

“Okay,” I told Alan over the phone. “I took care of that asshole husband. They’re a matched pair now.”

“You didn’t,” Alan sighed. “Jake, I thought we talked about this... you can’t just give it away...”

“I don’t do maintenance,” I snapped. “They’re gonna need an owner. Someone to ship ‘em out to California and put them near the ocean. It’s a pair of hot surfer bros... start making calls, they’ll make good arm candy.”

“Goddamn it...” my agent swore. “Fine. But you’re going to be late.”

“It wasn’t my idea to stop in Bozeman,” I pointed out.

“Yeah? Well it was your idea to do a whole job there,” Alan argued back.

“I’ll make up the time,” I said, trying to make a shrug visible over the phone. “I’m going thirty over the limit.”

Blue and red lit up my rear bumper.

--------------------

“Do y’all know how fast you were going?” the cop drawled. We were nowhere near the south. It had to be a put on.

“Thirty over the limit,” I said flippantly. “Just write me the ticket.”

“I don’t know boy,” he said, resting his hand on his holster. “You got a smart mouth. I ain’t just gonna let you go...”

“Oh for fucks sake,” I growled. “Officer, write me the ticket if you want... but I’m in a hurry. That’s the only reason I’m letting _you_ go.”

“Step outta the car,” he said, shaking his head. “Y’all better not have any drugs in there.”

He pulled a small baggie of white powder from his pocket and tossed it through the back window.

I stepped out of the car and put my hands where he could see them. I watch the news, I hear the stories... and there was only one solution I could think of.

When all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail.

“Did you always want to be a police officer?” I asked in my most hypnotic voice. I’ve done this to thousands of men. It’s my way of getting men to imagine their new life and it almost always works.

“Huh?” he said, unsure why his head was swimming. He gripped his pistol tighter and unsnapped the holster. I’d have to be careful about the gun.

“You heard me,” I said smoothly. “Did you always want to be a police officer?”

“Nah,” he drawled, despite himself. “Played football in college. Fucked my knee... coulda gone pro otherwise...”

“Big guy like you,” I said. “You must have been good.”

“Yeah,” he said, relaxing his grip on the weapon. “I was alright.”

“You liked the fans,” I suggested. “Like hearing people scream your name?”

“I got a lot of tail,” he smiled, slipping into the trance I projected. “All the ladies wanted me.”

“All the guys too,” I offered. I watched his face screw up in confusion. Normally I like to let a guy stumble into the story himself, but, well... I was late.

“No, I didn’t –“ he protested.

“Of course you didn’t,” I agreed. “Big strong guy like you. Of course you were straight. But that didn’t stop the queers from lusting after you.”

“Yeah...” he mumbled. “I guess they did...”

“And you were happy to take their money,” I added. “Twenty bucks to suck your cock. A hundred bucks to fuck your ass.”

“No, that ain’t...” he said, trailing off as he remembered it. He reached back and rubbed his ass. Too many donuts and hours in the squad car. “Not... not anymore,” he finally stammered.

“Why?” I asked simply.

“I’m outta shape...” he said with a spaced out expression, resting one hand on his gut. “After my injury... I gained weight...”

“You got into bodybuilding,” I said, reframing the memory for him. “Sure, you can’t squat without a knee brace, but that just means you bought a knee brace.”

“Yeah...” he said, remembering all those trips to the gym. “Gave me somethin’ to do. Kept me... kept me...”

“Kept you fit enough to keep making money,” I grinned. I pointed at his reflection in my window. Not his reflection... but the reflection of what might have been.

He stared at the version of himself. A perky bubble instead of a wide ass. Shelf-like pecs over a flat stomach. No trace of that gut.

His reflection didn’t have a gun. The badge was fake. The uniform fit like a glove.

“Well look at that...” he drawled. “I look like a stripper...”

“Of course you do,” I smirked. “That’s your job.”

“No...” he protested. “I don’t... I’m not... I’m a cop...”

“I don’t think so,” I prodded him. “The way you’re dressed? The way you’re built? You really think you’re a cop?”

“Nah...” he admitted. “I mean... sometimes I’m a cop. Sometimes I’m a fireman. Whatever the customer wants...”

He reached up and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his uniform, dropping his weapon in the dirt. His chest was hairy and flabby... but in the reflection it was waxed and tight.

“You sure you’re straight?” I asked with a sly smile.

“Hell yeah,” he nodded, watching his firmed up jawline in the window. “Strictly gay-for-pay.”

“You strip for women?” I asked.

“Nah...” he chuckled. “The fellas pay better. Plus...”

“You love cock,” I said bluntly. “Even if you’ll never admit it.”

“Yeah...” he drawled. “Don’t tell no-one, okay?”

I gave the magic a little push. He blinked and his whole world changed.

His weapon was gone. It had vanished along with his nightstick. He had a twelve inch dildo hanging off the side of his belt, complete with realistic balls.

Tearaway pants. His bulge pushed forward by a thong. The subtle signs of plastic surgery, his looks enhanced to their maximum potential.

His name tag read Officer Fuckstick.

“I gotta go...” he drawled. “I got some boys in Billings who ordered a show...”

His eyes were dull and hungry. I reached into my car and grabbed something from the back.

“I think this is yours,” I said, handing back the plastic baggy. “And here’s a little gift,” I said, tossing him a wrapped box. He pulled out the pink briefs and blushed – I knew he loved them.

His cop car was gone. Officer Fuckstick drove a red convertible. I watched him speed off into the distance.

I know how to show mercy.

--------------------

I sped the whole way and I still got there an hour late.

In fairness, the place was impossible to find. No street signs, GPS signal was spotty – eventually I got an old guy at a diner to draw me a map. I was so late I didn’t even reward him with a sixpack and a permanently hard-on.

They were waiting out front when I arrived. One of them was at least six feet tall and somewhere over two hundred pounds. He clearly knew his way around the gym. But his companion... he barely cleared five feet and he was what the kids call ‘skinnyfat’.

Time to upgrade the little one.

“Hey guys,” I said with a casual grin. “Sorry for running late. I got a little turned around.”

“No worries,” the little one said. “We’ve been on the waitlist for over a year... another hour or two doesn’t make much difference.”

“Yeah,” the big one said. “It’s good to meet you. Do you mind... uh, there’s a rapid test kit on that table over there. Just before you get too close...?”

Suddenly I understood why we were in the middle of nowhere. Most of the people I know are eager to forget COVID, but there are a few people still on high alert. I swabbed my nose carefully – whatever it takes to make the client comfortable.

I was clean. They took me inside the house.

“Would you mind taking your shoes off?” the big one said. “Sorry, I’m kind of a clean freak. There’s hand sanitizer right there, just use it after you take off the shoes, okay?”

Whatever it takes. I took a double dose of sanitizer.

We sat in their living room. There was a cup of tea already on the coffee table. I noticed my seat was carefully positioned a little over six feet from theirs.

“Alright,” I said, taking a sip of my cold tea and looking at the little one. “Let’s talk through your wishlist. There isn’t much in your file. I assume you’re looking to bulk up... uh...”

“Tyler,” the little one said. “Actually, I’m not the one getting changed. Michael’s your project for today.”

“Hey,” the big guy said. “Yeah... like I said, I’m kinda a clean freak. And then the pandemic hit, and suddenly I’m scared of every little cough. Tyler and me moved out here near the start of it, and I just don’t feel comfortable going back to the city.”

“And I *really* want to move back to the city,” Tyler admitted. “We’re from New York, and now... well, Montana’s not for me.”

“Me either,” Michael agreed. “But it’s safer away from people.”

“I don’t do immune systems,” I said, trying to understand what they wanted. “Like I can’t make you immune or anything.”

“Yeah, but we’ve seen your website,” Michael insisted. “You take average guys and turn them into carefree party animals. That’s all I want – take away the fear and the anxiety...”

“And maybe add a few more pounds of muscle,” Tyler added. “I mean, as long as we’re paying for it...”

“Yeah,” Michael shrugged. “I mean, I don’t care one way or another, but if Ty’s into it then I’m willing.”

“Mostly we just want to live our lives,” Tyler said. “So the highest priority is making sure Michael’s hypochondria goes away.”

“It’s not hypochondria,” Michael interrupted. “Not when there’s a real disease.”

“See what I’m dealing with?” Tyler asked, ignoring his partner.

“Okay...” I said slowly. “You understand that I can’t just strip away the anxiety. I’ve got one party trick – I make guys into dumb gay sluts. You won’t be anxious anymore... but that’s only because you’ll be too dumb to care.”

Call me a hypocrite. I changed three guys without consent in the past twenty-four hours, but Michael was a paying client. He needed to understand the costs.

“We’ve tried everything else,” Michael said flatly. “Let’s try this.”

“Alright,” I nodded. “We’re going to need a mirror.”

--------------------

“Let’s start with the hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Michael laughed, staring at himself in the floor length mirror. “Brown and shaggy isn’t in anymore?”

“I was thinking it could be curly,” Tyler suggested. “Maybe buzzed down on the sides like all those guys online?”

Tyler stood behind Michael, watching the bigger man in the mirror. I was seven feet to the left.

“Those guys are twenty,” Michael pointed out. “I’m thirty-five. I’d look pathetic.”

“Yeah... I was thinking we make you twenty,” Tyler admitted. “Look, it’s your call, but...”

“You guys haven’t talked about this?” I asked. “We can always reschedule...”

“And wait another year?” Michael laughed. “Whatever. Go ahead. I’ll take the broccoli cut.”

He watched his hair grow out in the mirror. A permed mop on his head, a tight fade on the side. Michael was right – it looked ridiculous at his age.

“Whoa,” he laughed. “Yeah, better make me twenty... or maybe twenty-one. I want to go to a bar so bad...”

“Twenty-one it is,” I agreed. The years melted away in the mirror and Michael stared. The few lines he had were melting off his face and his eyebags went away. “Now let’s talk about the rest of your face. A lot of guys like to update the eyes.”

“Tyler?” Michael said, giving his partner a cheeky grin. “You always said I’ve got too round of a face, right?”

“Let’s give him a square jaw,” Tyler decided. “And grey eyes. Something unusual and striking. Strong cheekbones, and dimples and a cute button nose.”

“What do you think?” I asked Michael.

“I’ll take it,” he chuckled. “I’m gonna love it after, right?”

“I can make sure you do,” I promised. I moved my hand, weaving in Tyler’s suggestions until the changes show in the mirror. Michael’s reflection was twenty-one and beautiful. “You mentioned wanting more muscle?”

“Yeah,” Tyler jumped back in. “But weird question... can we change his height?”

“Sure.”

“Then how about we keep the muscle, but we drop down your height Michael?” he asked. “I’d like to look you in the eye.”

“How tall are you?” I asked.

“Five foot four,” Tyler lied.

“Better make me five foot one,” Michael told me. He looked at Tyler and smiled. “I want you to be the tall one.”

“Okay,” I said, waving my hand subtly as we talked. I added his wish to the pattern. The mirror image shrunk down, getting wider and thicker to accommodate his muscle. Michael was the sort of short buff guy that turned me on every time.

But it’s not about me. When they’re a paying client, it’s all about them.

“Do you have any thoughts about what kind of dumbass you wanna be?”

“Huh?” Michael asked. “Just... the kind who’s dumb enough to be happy...?”

“No,” I chuckled. “I mean the archetypes. Jock, bro, fratboy, surfer... there are a lot. I’ve got a whole list.”

“That one’s easy,” Tyler said. “Make him a circuit queen. We’re making up for lost time.”

Michael’s reflection shifted again. His t-shirt and jeans shrunk until they were unrecognizable. A pair of cockhugging shorts and a matching neon yellow vest replaced them. The vest hung open over his thick pecs. A gold chain formed around his neck and a big diamond stud showed up in his newly pierced ear.

Michael’s eyes were wide. He could barely recognize himself in the mirror. It’s funny – you shave off fifteen years and a foot in height, no problem. But then you start changing their identity...

“Holy shit,” he said, staring at the neon kid in the mirror. “That’s me?”

“Not quite,” I said. “That’s Mikey.”

Michael raised his left hand cautiously and watched Mikey raise his right hand in return.

“But it’s like... my reflection,” he said, staring into his doppelgängers eyes.

“It can be,” I promised. “Is that what you want?”

“I’ve gotta admit...” he said thoughtfully. “Online... yeah, this looked like it. But now that I’m standing here...”

His voice faded and his eyes were getting softer. Tyler looked like he was about to say something but I made a shushing gesture. This only works if they go under.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Isn’t Mikey hot?”

“Yeah...” Michael agreed distantly. “But isn’t this a waste of my potential?”

“What potential?” I asked. “The potential to hide away in the woods, away from the world? Look at that guy in the mirror... he’s twenty-one and there’s a new party every night. Who’s got more potential?”

“I guess he does...” Michael said with an absent tone. “Got his whole life ahead of him...”

In the mirror Mikey was echoing his words.

“What do you think Mikey?” I asked. “You care about potential?”

“Who the fuck cares?” Mikey laughed in the mirror. Michael laughed along with him, echoing back. “I’m too pretty for shit like that.”

They ran their hands along their torsos. Mikey over his six pack. Michael over his t-shirt.

“I wanna get laid,” the both said. I couldn’t tell who was leading and who was following.

“That’s all you care about?” I grinned. “Cock and parties and muscle.”

“Yeah...” Michael mumbled, barely audible over the silence. “I wanna go party...”

“Mikey gets to party...” I suggested.

“Yeah...” Michael said, his voice barely a whisper. “I wanna be Mikey...”

We blinked and it was done. The old Michael was gone, replaced with a 21 year old party slut, just starting his life as a circuit queen. Mykonos... The White Party... even just Coachella... Mikey lived for the crowds.

“Check me out...” he laughed loudly. It echoed through the quiet house and made Tyler flinch. He moved his hips to imaginary music. “I’m like... totally hot!”

Tyler’s eyes were wide behind him.

“Baby, check out this ass!” Mikey giggled, reaching back and taking big handfuls of his muscular cheeks. “Let’s hit the club! I wanna get fucked!”

“We... we could fuck right now,” Tyler stammered.

“No offence babe,” Mikey laughed. “You’re just like... I’m a ten, mmhmm? I gotta fuck tens.”

Tyler looked over at me in panic.

“What’s wrong Tyler?” I chuckled. “The twenty-one year old club queen is too vapid?”

“He’s just so...” Tyler said, staring at Mikey. “I thought he’d still want me...”

“Well... I was late,” I pointed out. “How about a freebie to apologize. You wanna go through the looking glass?”

I started moving my other hand. Weaving a spell for Tyler too.

“What... what do you mean?” he stammered.

In the mirror Tyler’s body surged with muscle. That skinny fat physique was blasted out of existence, replaced by lean muscle and a tight bubble butt. I left his height the same – an inch taller than Mikey – but I piled on the muscle. Around the time he hit 190 I tapered it off, piling a few more pounds onto his square pecs and thick calves.

“Tyler,” I said with a smirk. “Meet T.”

“Oh my god...” he said, staring at his reflection. I hadn’t quite matched him to Mikey – T’s hair was blond where Mikey was a brunette. His eyes were blue where Mikey’s were grey. Both his ears were pierced by gold hoops.

“Holy Smokes,” Tyler said, his voice sounding like he’d fallen down a well. In the mirror T mouthed along with him. Mikey didn’t even notice – he was too busy checking himself out.

I kept weaving my spell. T’s shirt and pants vanished, replaced instantly with a pair of shiny rubber shorts and a white leather harness. His cock was outlined by the rubber, excited and hard.

“He’s hot... but he looks like an idiot...” Tyler said. T spoke the words along with him.

“I’d fuck him,” Mikey said, finally taking notice.

Tyler stared past him into the mirror. I’ve seen this a thousand times. The gap between reality and the reflection I’d made for him... he wanted to make the leap, but he needed permission.

“Nothin’ wrong with lookin’ dumb,” T said. I watched Tyler echo his words. “Nothin’ wrong with bein’ dumb...”

“T’s got a huge cock...” I suggested. In the mirror T moaned as his cock swelled in size. His bulge was barely contained inside the rubber shorts.

Tyler moaned along with him.

“If you looked like that... I’d fuck you!” Mikey grinned. “C’mon girl... get it!”

“There’s nothin’ wrong with bein’ dumb...” I heard them say. Tyler, T... who knew?

“That’s right babe!” Mikey said, turning to his partner.

“Especially when you got a huge cock...” Tyler said.

T gripped his balls and grinned.

“That’d be hot as hell...” Mikey whispered in his ear. “You wanna have a huge cock?”

“Yeah...” Tyler said softly. “I wanna be T.”

I blinked and there were two muscle boys standing in front of me. Mikey was already leaning in for a kiss and T welcomed him with an unchallenged grin.

“You two are gonna be big on TikTok,” I chuckled. “And probably OnlyFans too.”

“We’re gonna fuck...” T said, massaging Mikey’s cock through his neon shorts. “You wanna watch?”

“He wants to play,” Mikey grinned, grabbing my tee and pulling me close for a kiss. I bent down and let him. He let his hands wander over me, slipping beneath my clothes and teasing me. He took long sniffs of my pits and my crotch... the new Mikey liked to get close.

I let them lead me up to the bedroom. It wasn’t their style at all – not anymore. I imagined Mikey and T would sell the place soon enough. It was too far from the scene.

They started by pulling off my clothes. Jeans and a t-shirt, a pair of black briefs.

“Dude, you should do the mirror thingy,” T said as he stared at my body. “I mean... you’re like... good looking and shit... but you could be young and hot!”

“And full of cum!” Mikey laughed. He dropped his shorts and let his cock spring free. His vest landed on the floor too, leaving me drooling over the short stud. “I need you to fuck me,” he moaned in my ear.

“Fuck me first,” T begged, slipping off his shorts too. He left the harness on – he’s an idiot with a huge cock, but he knows how to look hot.

This happens sometimes. Michael must have been the bottom, and I’d used Mikey as the template for T. They were a matched pair now – a couple of horny holes searching for the hottest cocks.

“Mikey goes first,” I decided. “He’s the client. You got a condom?”

“I want your load inside me,” Mikey moaned, getting down on all fours and waving his ass at me. Not a hint of caution. Safe to say, he wasn’t a hypochondriac anymore.

I eased my cock into his hole. He opened right up, swallowing my pole and screaming at the sensation. I pitied their neighbours in New York – Mikey liked to make noise.

It only took a minute to blow my load. I hadn’t gotten off since whatshisname that morning, despite working all day. I was fucking Mikey, sure, but I was also fucking Link and Brody and Officer Fuckstick.

Of course I didn’t tell them. Mikey and T don’t get metaphor.

“Do me next!” T demanded.

--------------------

I finished up work around six. Mikey and T wanted me to drive into the city with them – I guess there’s a dance club in Billings that’s okay in a pinch. It was only a few hours away and they needed to move their bodies.

No can do, I told them. I’ve got a schedule to keep. There’s a guy in Nebraska who wants to get buff. He doesn’t care that I’ll leave him gay and slutty – he just wants to be famous on Instagram.

I left them with a couple pairs of my signature underwear and drove into the night.

I didn’t stop til Wyoming. The motel bar sign said it closed at ten, but the bartender stayed late when he saw me pull up.

“Beer?” he asked, putting a Budweiser in front of me and opening one for himself. “Just got time for one. I gotta get home to the missus.”

“Thanks for staying late,” I said, clinking my bottle against his own. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he said with a western twang and a friendly smile. “I like meeting new friends.”

I took a long sip of my beer and glanced in the mirror behind him.

“Did you always want to be a bartender?”