This story is password protected for newsletter subscribers only.
Want to get in on the fun? Click the button below the password form to sign up for future newsletters.
Tag: transformation (Page 3 of 7)
The morning sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Greg and Jim’s newly redecorated living room. Vintage leather armchairs, a teak record console, and shelves groaning under the weight of obscure vinyl had replaced the La-Z-Boy recliners, wide-screen TV, and photos of the middle-aged bear couple smiling in front of various landmarks. A fiddle-leaf fig stood in the corner, its glossy leaves throwing reflected light onto a battered mechanical typewriter sitting on a reclaimed wooden desk. Wedged between the keys was a thin placard that read “Words have weight.”
Jim stood in front of the antique full-length mirror, knotting a mustard-colored silk scarf over his too snug button down. The shirt, two sizes too small, clung to him for dear life and was perfectly suited for a man who wanted people to think it was an old favorite. Over it, he wore a tailored vest with a silver pocket watch and chain. Where he once spent the weekend in cargo shorts and t-shirts, he now excluded the kind of effortless chic that actually took considerable effort to achieve.
Continue reading
Aaron stood in front of the full-length mirror, but his gaze wasn’t fixed on his reflection. Instead, he stared at the gleaming latex police uniform laid out on the bed behind him. The pieces were so perfectly arranged, each polished to a gleaming shine, reflecting the afternoon light streaming through the blinds.
It wasn’t just a uniform; it was a promise of change. Aaron’s heart pounded with the weight of what he was about to do. The air felt thick, charged with the raw energy of expectation, as if the uniform itself was watching him and waiting for him to surrender to its authority. Deep down, Aaron knew that once he started, there would be no going back.
Continue reading
Read part 1 of “The 40th Year: Dads by Design” to get caught up before reading on…
On the edge of downtown, in a calm studio filled with the scent of essential oils, Tristan Green led a yoga class. The room was peaceful, with soft music playing in the background and a dozen students of all ages and sizes following Tristan’s lead. An expert yogi, Tristan moved gracefully through the poses, his voice calm and steady.
“Remember to breathe deeply and focus on your inner balance,” he instructed, his tone measured and soothing.
Tristan was a tall, lean man with a build that spoke to years of disciplined exercise and healthy living. His skin practically glowed. His brown hair was kept pulled into a tight bun on the crown of his head, and his green eyes reflected a calm intensity that inspired his students to excel. His personal style emphasized his commitment to comfort and wellness, wearing organic cotton yoga pants and a fitted tank top that showcased his toned physique. Around his neck, he wore a mala bead necklace, symbolizing his dedication to mindfulness and spirituality.
Continue reading
Nestled between two lakes, Madison stood as a bastion of normalcy and order in a region otherwise dominated by overdeveloped urban sprawl. Unlike the towering chaos of Minneapolis, the relentless pace of Chicago, and or the cloying density of Milwaukee, Madison maintained a veneer of serenity, aided by installing MuniciPOL checkpoints at all major roadways and ports of entry. With MuniciPOL restricting access and tracking residents, the city avoided suffering the same fate as its midwestern neighbors. With neatly arranged buildings, lush parks, and tree-lined streets, Madison boasted controlled harmony under the ever-watchful eye of the state. Life was good in Madison, but it came at a cost.
Digital billboards displayed advertisements and state-mandated messages promoting unity and conformity. Citizens moved with a purpose, with clearly defined roles and meticulously planned futures. Madison’s infrastructure, from transport to housing to immaculate public spaces, reflected the state’s commitment to an orderly society.
Continue reading
Tom adjusted his tie for the third time, feeling the stares of shoppers as he walked into a store ominously called Suburban Savers. His tailored suit, a navy blue ensemble that hugged his tall, slender frame perfectly, stood out against the casual attire of the other patrons. He was acutely aware of the sweat forming at the nape of his neck, threatening to stain the crisp white shirt he wore beneath his jacket. Cody, meanwhile, was already live streaming their entrance, his phone held up high to capture every moment. The younger man, dressed in trendy, casual clothes, exuded confidence and charisma. His messy blonde hair and impish grin made him seem approachable, unlike Tom’s polished and somewhat intimidating appearance.
“Hey everyone, we’re here at Suburban Savers with my new project. Say hi, Tom!” Cody said, turning the camera toward him.
Continue reading
Author’s note: This week, I’m sharing a scene from a novella, originally titled Prince Hairy, which I wrote a while back but abandoned after the second draft. In the story, a bearish everyman named Brandon falls for Prince Thomas, a junior member of an unnamed kingdom’s royal family. The spicy gay romance plot also incorporates elements of dystopia and horror, as courtiers use hypnosis and chastity to transform Brandon into the perfect royal consort.
The door to the chamber stood open, a silent invitation that filled Brandon with a sense of foreboding. The room beyond was clinical and utilitarian, a stark contrast to the opulence of the palace above. The walls were painted a cold, sterile white, and the air was filled with the hum of machinery and the scent of antiseptic. In the center of the room sat a large, padded chair, surrounded by an array of medical equipment and devices that glinted ominously under the harsh light.
As he stepped into the room, Brandon felt a chill run down his spine. The oppressive atmosphere reminded him of the control and conformity that defined this world. The head psychologist, a tall, imposing man with a sharp, discerning gaze, greeted him with a polite smile, his expression one of composed professionalism.
Continue reading
Bryan’s eyes scanned the street as he walked, his gym bag swinging lightly in his grip. He had moved to this quiet suburban neighborhood for his new job a few weeks ago and was eager to maintain his fitness regime. After scoping out a few options online, he settled on the closest gym to his new apartment. From the outside, it looked quaint, almost nostalgic, with a classic neon sign that read “TownFit Gym.” Unlike the sleek, ultramodern gyms Bryan was accustomed to, the building had an old-school charm.
He pushed open the door, the scent of worn vinyl and faint sweat greeting him. It was inexplicably familiar, almost comforting. Inside, the gym buzzed with activity, but it was not the stereotypical health club intensity Bryan was used to. The patrons here moved slowly, laughed loudly, and seemed reassuringly at ease with each other. The average age appeared to be mid 40s, with a striking majority of the men sporting dad bods—soft around the middle but with an air of solid strength beneath the surface.
Continue reading
Mick’s heart pounded as he stood motionless in the garage, awkwardly gripping his husband Paul’s hand. Ted’s laughter echoed around them, a chilling reminder of the power he now held over their lives. The air was tense. The scent of sawdust and whiskey mingled with their fear.
Paul’s mind raced as his face ached from smiling. He tried to piece together how everything had gone so wrong and how he and Rick didn’t realize it until it was too late. Just a few hours ago, they had been enjoying a regular Friday night with Ted, their charming and seemingly perfect friend. Then everything changed.
Continue reading
Marcus led Jamie down the cracked pavement of Main Street, directing his boyfriend from their car toward the barbershop. Clear Creek wasn’t a ghost town in the strictest sense, but whatever community existed was conspicuously absent from Main Street this Sunday afternoon. An autumn gust whipped through the thoroughfare, swirling old newspapers and fallen maple leaves into a mini cyclone. Jamie pulled his dark green bomber jacket tighter around his slender frame as they passed under an American flag, which flapped noisily from its mast above the awning of an abandoned storefront.
Contrary to Jamie’s efforts to shield himself from the wind, Marcus cut a carefree, imposing figure as they walked to the barbershop. With his back straight and shoulders square, Marcus walked with a confident stride that seemed to make even the swirling leaves calm down in his presence. His sharply tailored jacket clung tightly to his broad upper body, the black leather creaking with every smooth, undulating motion.
Continue reading