A Sunday in the Life

Hey guys - here's the last instalment of my 'Day in the Life' series. Thanks for giving me a few extra days. I've already got the next Horny Himbo story outlined and I'm looking forward to sharing the first chapter next month!

I hope you enjoy this one. I had a ton of fun writing 'Day in the Life'. As always, thank you for your support.

-----

I woke up hungover.  I vaguely remember Monty pointing me towards the guest bedroom before dragging Van – that’s what I decided to name my second-newest himbo – off to the master bedroom.

My head was pounding, my was throat dry, and my whole body ached.  I didn’t remember how the night ended, but given the way I felt, we’d had some fun.

Down the hall, someone was moaning, the familiar response to rhythmic thrusts. I groaned, rolled off my bed, and went to find a bathroom.

The master bedroom door was open just a crack. I couldn’t resist peeking.  Monty was on his back. Van was riding his cock the way a cowboy rides a bucking bronco.

Their bed was a mess of sweat and muscle, their bodies glistening in the morning light. Van had his hands on Monty's chest, fingers digging into those thick slabs of pec, hips rising and falling with a practiced ease. He tossed back his head and laughed.  Monty took that as an invitation to fuck even harder.

Something snapped inside me – holy shit... that was my Dad.

I stumbled back from the door, nearly tripping on a discarded jockstrap. I averted my eyes and cringed. My fucking Dad was railing a muscleboy half his age. Half his real age – I guess I’d turned him into a twenty-something musclehead too. Goddamn it.

Monty wasn’t really my dad anymore.

Except he totally was.

I braced my hands on the hallway wall and took a few deep breaths.

I had done this.

Monty used to be a grey-haired widower with a power complex. Van was an anonymous security guard. But I gave them both a mirror and told them to look.

I had done this.

I wasn’t used to staying for the aftermath.  I padded to the kitchen, scratching my chest and hoping caffeine would clear the image out of my head.

The house was a disaster. We’d emptied a few bottles of high end liquor, and the empties were strewn around the kitchen.  The coffee machine was miraculously ready.

I took a sip, leaned on the counter, and smiled despite myself.  The coffee was strong and badly needed.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound was soft, almost delicate. It came again. Tap. Tap. Tap.

I turned around slowly.

There was a mirror on the far wall of the kitchen. Ornate frame, gold leaf, probably an antique. If it was there last night, I hadn't been sober enough to notice.

My reflection was there, waiting for me.  It was mine, but not mine, moving independently.  He was watching me, tapping the inside of the glass with a knuckle.

"Hey," I said cautiously, stepping toward the mirror.

My reflection smiled.  ”Hey yourself.”

I was too hung over for this shit.  Speaking with your magical alter-ego is hard enough on a good day.  But still...

"Thanks," I said quietly. "You saved my butt more than once."

The reflection shrugged. "That's my job."

"Funny," I chuckled. "I don't remember hiring a bodyguard."

"Well... you know the story now," the reflection said, folding his arms. "Richie Rich gets kidnapped, and suddenly the kid needs to protect himself. But he’s just a kid... so I get born."

"Yeah." I scratched my chin. "You’re the part that keeps me safe."

"Exactly."

"Thing is," I said, "I think I’m old enough to take care of myself. I mean, I appreciate it, and you’ve gotten me out of some tough scrapes, but..."

I looked in the mirror and flexed. My body was solid – thick arms, wide shoulders, and an ass that wouldn’t quit. I wasn’t some kid anymore.

The reflection rolled his eyes. "Sure, you’re a big boy now. But I’ll keep you safe forever. That’s the deal."

He raised a hand and pressed it to the inside of the glass.

"Just listen," he said softly. "I’ve got your back."

Then, like mist burning off in the sun, he faded.

All that was left was my regular reflection, standing in a messy kitchen, holding a mug of coffee, looking tired and a little unsure.

"Okay," I said to no one. "Okay."

I stood at the window, sipping caffeine and watching the morning dew evaporate. Birds were already darting between the hedges. Whoever handled Monty's landscaping deserved an award – even hungover, I could appreciate the design.

My quiet reflection only lasted a few minutes.  A car was pulling up to the front gate.

Dark grey. Corporate. The kind of vehicle someone drives when they want to signal restraint, authority, and deeply repression. It came to a stop just short of the keypad.

I squinted, then turned my head.

"Monty!" I shouted. "You expecting someone?"

I heard Van’s ass hit the floor.  Monty ran into the kitchen, completely naked, hard as a rock.

“What’s up brah?" he asked, voice light and easy. “You invite some more dudes?”

Van appeared a moment later, in a pair of  loose mesh shorts.  Damn, he looked good.  Monty had hogged him all night, and I couldn't wait for a crack at that ass... or that cock, I thought, rubbing my own globes subconsciously.

"Someone's coming," I said, snapping out of it. “There’s a car at the gate."

"Relax, brah," Monty said, waving a hand as he walked barefoot toward the front door. “It’s comin’ up on noon, so... that’s just Brian. He like... does stuff for me. Number stuff."

"Accountant?" I asked, already heading toward the front hall.

“More like my right hand man.”

He stepped out onto the front porch without even a hint of modesty.

"Hey Brian!"

The man stepping out of the car paused, his salt-and-pepper hair cut short, his shirt perfectly pressed. He looked up from his phone and froze.

Monty gave him a full-body wave, his junk swinging casually in the breeze.

Brian's eyes went wide. His mouth opened and closed like he was buffering.

"Who are you?" he asked, finally finding his voice.

"It’s me!" Monty grinned. "Monty!"

I stepped forward, palms raised.

"This is Mr. Montgomery," I said, trying to make it make sense. "I’m his son, Jake. Maybe you heard of me?”

Brian's eyes flicked between me and Monty. His mouth hung open again for a few seconds before he raised his phone to his ear.

"Hey," he said, refusing to blink. "Can you come by the main house? We have a situation."

Monty just chuckled and struck a little pose.

"Told you, brah," he whispered. "Brian’s real uptight. He needs to get laid."

-----

We gathered in the front room. The air was stiff with suits and suspicion. I’d put on a clean t-shirt and jeans. Van had managed to find a glittery crop-top. Monty had slipped into a speedo – mesh, but it was technically clothing.

We were surrounded by a half dozen men in dark suits, each one radiating vibe you only get from corporate lifers. Laptops were open. Pens clicked nervously. They needed to get laid.

Brian stood near the fireplace, arms crossed like a disappointed teacher.

"Authentication procedure," one of the suits said.  “Sorry sir... we have to follow the procedure you created in case Jake ever... uh...”

Monty stood and stepped forward, grinning like he was about to perform at a pageant.

“Relax babe,” Monty giggled.  “Do what you gotta do.”

"Retinal scan," the suit instructed.  He held out a small device with a sunken camera.  Monty leaned into it and the machine beeped.

"Match," the tech confirmed.

"RFID ring."

Monty held up his right hand. The ring looked comically out of place on him—a sleek titanium band that didn’t match his style.  Thank god I didn’t make it vanish into the ether – the machine pinged again.

"Match."

"Passphrase?"

Monty winked at me. “Pink briefs.”

Another beep. Another nod.

"Match."

Brian didn’t look relieved.

"This can’t be Arthur Montgomery," he muttered, eyes narrowing. "The guy’s barely legal."

"It’s him," I said flatly. "I used my powers on him.  You know, that thing where I take a guy and turn him into a booty over brains, right?”

That got the room’s attention. A few men scoffed. One guy actually laughed under his breath.

"He was gonna cut me open," I said calmly. "Dissect my brain or whatever. He had questions, so I gave my answer."

"This is your idea of an answer?" Brian stared. "You turned him into..."

"Himself," Monty offered, flopping back onto the couch with a contented sigh.  “My boy’s got the power, just like his Mom!”

Brian shot him a look and turned to me.

"I knew your mother," he said sharply. "And yes... she was persuasive. Very persuasive. But nothing like what your father described."

His voice was tight. There was a flicker of fear.

I stood up slowly, letting my chair creak back. The room got quiet. Even Monty shut up for a second.

"Who here wants to risk it?” I asked, looking around at the faces of the suits. “I’ve got the power – and I’m willing to prove it.”

A few eyes flicked away. A couple jaws clenched. One guy swallowed hard.

I let the silence stretch, then turned to a younger guy near the back – someone’s assistant. Probably fresh out of business school. Nervous energy, trying not to be noticed.

"You," I said, pointing with my coffee cup. "What’s your name?"

"Kevin," he said, straightening instinctively.  He looked like I’d just caught him napping.

"Kevin," I smiled generously, "You wanna be a dumb-as-rocks gym jock with a monster cock and no idea how spreadsheets work?"

His eyes went wide. A few people laughed uneasily.

"I mean..." Kevin shifted in his chair, face flushing. "I wouldn’t mind the muscle. But I’m not quite ready to, uh... lose my mind."

"Fair," I nodded. "But I don’t do halfway. Whenever I do this to someone... they always end up as a total dumbass slut. Totally and irrevocably. I can’t control that part."

"Do your worst," someone else said.

I turned towards the voice.  He was a man in his mid-thirties, his blazer was already off and he was rolling up his sleeves.  He had the look of a man who dreamed of being interesting and now settled for being in charge of an inbox.

"Name?" I asked.

"Bradley," he said, loosening his tie. "I’m a lawyer. Not like it’s gonna work on me."

“Did you always want to be a lawyer, Bradley?” I asked, pointing out his reflection in a mirror.

Bradley blinked, then looked toward a mirror on the wall. His reflection stared back, but I could already see the shimmer—like the surface of a lake just before a storm.

“I mean, I guess?” he said. “I was good at arguing. My dad said it was a waste unless I got paid for it.”

“But did you want it?” I asked.

He hesitated.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe.”

I nodded. “Let’s try something.”

The reflection shimmered again, and I raised my hand slowly.

“You wanted to be confident,” I said, watching his image start to shift. “You wanted to walk into a room and own it. You wanted to be the guy everyone notices, not just the guy everyone emails.”

His chest broadened, pecs thickening under his dress shirt until buttons began to strain. His jaw sharpened, then relaxed into a smirk. I saw stubble grow in clean and strong. His hair fluffed up into something messier, more intentional.

His voice caught. “How are you doing that?”

“How doesn’t matter,” I shrugged.  “All that matters is wanting it.”

He shifted uncomfortably. His shoes squeaked on the floor.

“You didn’t want to argue,” I continued. “You wanted to persuade. You wanted to charm. You wanted to flirt your way to victory and enjoy the ride.”

His hips widened slightly, ass rounding into the kind of perfect shape that made tailored pants work overtime. His posture shifted—shoulders back, chest out, stance cocky and inviting.

“You wanted to feel good about how you look. You wanted to make people laugh. You wanted to like yourself.”

His reflection now wore a tight tank top. His pants had turned into grey sweats that showed off his thick thighs and perfect bulge. He looked like the kind of guy danced shirtless on rooftop bars.

His eyes met mine in the mirror.

“Oh my god,” he murmured, his voice deeper, lazier. “I’m like... so fucking hot.”

He tweaked his nipples through the tank, hips swaying slightly as he admired himself.

His reflection was hard, his cock tenting out and leaving a wet spot on the sweat pants.

“That’s Brad,” I whispered in his ear.  “Don't you wanna be Brad?”

“Yeah,” he moaned, his hand dropping to his cock.  I blinked and...

"Like... oh my god," he moaned, voice going higher, more nasal. He dropped into a squat and started bouncing, his tongue sticking out. "This guy's for real!"

One of the other suits cursed under his breath.

Brad looked up at me, eyes glassy, mouth open, leaking pre through his sweats.  He wanted to fuck me.  I couldn’t wait to feel his cock slip between my cheeks.

I turned back to Brian.

"Still not sold?"

The mood had shifted. The suits were rattled, but they weren’t arguing anymore. We filled out the required paperwork—mostly affirmations that Monty was of sound mind, still the legal entity behind the company, and fully in control of his assets. The retinal scan had convinced the system.

Bradley – sorry, Brad – was still in the corner, shirtless and squeezing his pecs like they were stress balls. Nobody dared look him directly in the eye.

Monty kicked his feet up on the coffee table.

"I’m gonna like... totally change the company," he announced. "Let’s shut down all the boring evil shit."

One of the attorneys started to raise a hand but clearly thought better of it.

"No more oil," Monty continued. "No more private prisons. No more... like... yachts that exploit tax loopholes. That’s so last year."

Van clapped softly in the background.

"I wanna open a club. A bunch of clubs! One in every city!  And we’ll hire a bunch of slutty dancers," Monty moaned, clearly picturing it. "And Jake can make ‘em even sluttier."

He looked over at me, beaming with pride like a dad watching his kid win a hot dog eating contest.

"Sounds fun to me," I said, giving a half-shrug. "We’ll line the walls with mirrors and I can keep an eye out for killjoys."

"ZAP." I held up two fingers like a pretend gun. “BOOM.”

I turned to the transformed lawyer, now lazily tugging at the waistband of his sweats.

"They’ll end up like... sorry, what’s your name again?"

The guy blinked slowly. "Uh..."

"Bradley Neufeld," Brian supplied, his voice flat.

"Then BOOM," I repeated. "They’ll end up like Brad."

Brian looked like he was recalculating his life choices.

"That’s going to be a huge liability," he pointed out, trying to sound composed.

I tilted my head.

"I’m sorry, Brian," I said, just a little too sweetly. "Is someone being a killjoy?"

Brian paled.

"No, no," he said quickly, backing up a step. "It’s a great idea. Let’s do it."

"Absolutely," muttered one suit.

"Innovative," another chimed in.

"Visionary," added a third.

Brad beamed. "Can I bartend?"

"Hell yeah you can," Monty grinned. "Shirts optional!"

Brad bounced excitedly, then leaned forward and whispered, "Do I have to wear pants?"

"Not in my club," Monty declared.  “You don’t have to wear anything!”

“Uh...” Brian said nervously.  “We’ll still need to consider health codes and, uh...”

“Fine,” Monty said, rolling his eyes.  “You can handle a thong, right Brad?  You’d look super slutty!”

Brad opened his mouth to protest, but he got cut off by a soft chime echoing through the room.  I glanced at Monty, but he seemed unfazed.

Brian walked briskly across the space to a wall panel I hadn’t noticed before. He tapped it, and a section slid open with a mechanical hiss. A recessed console lit up.

He read something on the display.

"Excuse me, Mr. Montgomery," Brian said, clearing his throat. "There’s a package here for you."

Monty perked up.

"Damn girl," he grinned. "Say it again. But like... Jake, you wanna make him a sexy FedEx guy first?"

I chuckled.  Let’s call that one a joke.

"I’m sorry, sir,” Brian said quickly.  “I meant... you have a new guest."

He pressed a few buttons, and a large TV mounted on the far wall blinked to life.

The image was grainy security footage from an underground garage. A black van was pulling into frame. The passenger door opened and Alan stepped out.

"Alan!" I cheered. "That’s my agent."

“Oh yeah,” Monty cheered.  “I totally forgot he was coming!”

"Yeah," I shrugged. "I assume you had some evil plan?"

"If you wouldn’t talk," Monty admitted. “We were gonna torture him in front of you. Like... sorry bro. Just business."

Then he grinned. "But hey, at least your buddy’s here! Gotta look on the bright side, right?  Let’s get him up here!"

Brian, to his credit, didn’t even sigh. He just tapped a few more buttons, nodded to a guard, and resumed pretending this was all perfectly normal.  It took a few minutes for Alan to come upstairs, which gave us time to agree that a thong would be enough, and Brad could take it off once the bar was closed.

Eventually we heard footsteps approaching from down the hall.  Alan, flanked by of Montgomery’s private security guards.

They stepped into the room and looked confused as hell.  Brian and his lawyers were probably a normal sight, but Monty sprawled on the couch, his cock clearly visible through the mesh... that wasn’t an everyday sight for them.

"It's cool," Monty called out from the couch, lounging with his arms draped across the back like a slutty king. "He’s with us."

That didn’t help.  The guards tightened up, shifting subtly to keep Alan boxed in.

Brian stepped in, rubbing his temples. "It’s okay," he said wearily. "Check your email. Leadership will be issuing a memo shortly.”  I guess that’s corporate code for 'stand down’.

"Where is he?" Alan demanded. “What did you do to Jake?”

“Hey man,” I stepped forward.  “Uh... it’s been a weird week, huh?”

He stared.

"Jake?" he asked, cautious.

"It’s me," I said with a shrug. "I mean, this was always going to happen, right? Ever since I made my cock bigger way back when."

“But you always said you wouldn’t,” Alan protested. "That it was a slippery slope and you’d never be able to stop.”

“I had to,” I shrugged.  “Montgomery had me cornered, but Monty over there... anyway, I didn’t touch my mind yet."

His eyes searched my face.

Then he grinned. "Holy shit."

He stepped forward, slow at first, then with a rush of emotion. He threw his arms around me and pulled me into a bear hug.

"Jake!"

I laughed and hugged him back.

"Hey Alan," I murmured. “You’ll never guess what’s been happening.”

-----

We moved into the back patio, away from the suits and echoey acoustics. The sun was starting to warm the flagstones. Monty had disappeared to fuck Van, and Brad was trying to figure out how to use the espresso machine like it was a complex puzzle.

We sat across from each other on big cushioned chairs, a pitcher of something fruity between us. I caught him up on everything – Monty’s transformation, my unlikely heritage, the new business plan. He didn’t interrupt. Just listened, his eyes getting steadily wider.

"And we want you there, dude," I said as I leaned back. "What, you think I’d open a chain of gay clubs without you?"

"As long as I get to pick the cocktail menu, I’m in,” Alan chuckled.

We started bouncing ideas back and forth, easy and fast, in that shorthand we’d always had. Neon jungle in Miami. Mirror maze bar in Chicago. A San Francisco club where every room plays a different era of gay music. Alan wanted a theme night called “Tux and Jock”. I pitched a wall of showers.

"You don’t even have to do the heavy lifting," I grinned. “That's for people like Brian.  We’ll keep it fun. Keep it light."

"You could finally have some stability," Alan said, more seriously. "Not just job to job. Something lasting. Something real."

I opened my mouth to respond.

Then my eyes drifted past him.

There were a pair of glass doors leading inside, and a mirror mounted just past them.  My reflection was staring back at me.

"Run!" It mouthed at me.

Then again, more urgently—

"RUN!"

I shot to my feet.

"Security—!" I shouted, backing away.

He jumped out of his chair and tried to close the gap. I staggered a step back, heart pounding.

If my reflection was trying to warn me... something was wrong.

Very, very wrong.

"Dude, what the fuck," Alan said, pushing himself back up. "It’s me."

"Not for much longer," I spat, backing toward the edge of the patio.

The mirror by the door was glowing now. Active. And my reflection wasn't just watching now. He was pounding against the inside of the glass.

Security burst through the doors and grabbed Alan.  The suits weren’t far behind.  Even Monty and Van showed up, naked and sweaty.

Monty stopped short and noticed the glowing mirror. "Bruh, who’s that?"

He blinked slowly, squinting at the mirror. "It’s like... you... but it’s like... not you."

"It’s my bodyguard," I said, not taking my eyes off the reflection. "I guess I made him protect me when you... couldn’t."

"What are you talking about?” Alan asked, still struggling against the security guys.  “There’s no reason to be afraid of me. I’ve been in your corner this whole time. I’ve been the one keeping you safe. I’ve been the one helping you make a life."

"He says I need to run," I said, pointing straight at the mirror.

My reflection had stopped pounding. Now he was just staring at me, calm and solemn, one hand pressed to the glass.

"And he's always right."

Alan turned slowly toward the mirror, squinting like he was trying to see through fog.  The security guys gave him just enough leeway to turn his head.

"Okay," he said carefully, speaking directly to the reflection. "Then tell me. Why does he need to run?"

The reflection didn’t answer.

"I’ve always been there for him," he said, voice low. "I’ve protected him. Fought for him. Got him gigs, got him freedom, covered for his bullshit, helped him make a life. Where were you?"

The reflection blinked. His mouth opened.

"I kept him safe."

"From what?" Alan pressed. "From me? From a life he actually wants?"

The reflection looked back at me, then returned to Alan.

"From danger."

"You think I am the danger?" Alan said. "Or is it just anything that asks him to stop running?"

The reflection twitched. "I protect him. That’s my job."

"He doesn’t need protection from me."

"He needs protection."

Alan frowned. "From what?"

"From you."

"But I’m here to help."

"That’s what makes you dangerous.” The reflection nodded. "That’s why I don’t trust you."

Alan laughed once, bitter and quiet. "You don’t even know what you’re saying."

"I know enough," the reflection said. "I know he should run."

Alan looked back at me.

I didn’t move. Neither did the reflection.

The mirror started to glow.

Alan tried to take a step back, but security stopped him.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The reflection didn’t answer. His jaw was clenched, his eyes locked on me. Behind him, the mirror shimmered, rippling like water on a windy day.

Then, without warning, Brian gasped.

His hands flew to his chest as his pecs surged outward, ballooning into heavy, overdeveloped slabs of muscle that strained against his shirt. Stitching popped. Buttons ricocheted across the floor. His neck thickened, his collar curling open as his traps swelled up like inflated pillows. The veins along his arms bulged, crawling up his forearms like vines. He staggered into a chair, gritting his teeth, breath coming in short, ragged bursts.

Alan cried out.

He bent forward as his abs punched outward beneath his shirt, tearing through cotton with a series of sharp snaps. His sleeves split from the shoulder down, revealing biceps swelling bigger than grapefruits, pumped and twitching. His legs bowed outward, thighs and calves stretching the seams of his pants until they exploded at the seams, leaving him half-dressed in shredded fabric and glossy skin. He grunted, sweat beading on his forehead. His eyes locked on mine, wide with panic.

Both security guards dropped to the floor, groaning. One grabbed at his crotch as his bulge pushed obscenely forward, his pants tenting and stretching until the zipper popped open. The other was on his knees, panting hard as his lats flared, spine twisting with the sudden onset of muscle. Their uniforms peeled off like paper around them, every inch of their bodies surging with power and raw, aggressive heat. Their jaws clenched, eyes unfocused. One of them started grinding against the floor.

I stepped forward, voice cracking. "Stop it!"

The reflection didn’t even blink. "I’m protecting you."

"You’re hurting people!"

"You have to run," he said, louder now. "It’s not safe. You have to run.  Just... let’s empty out that head... you’ll obey me once I’m done...”

It felt like my mind was being sucked down a garbage disposal.  Thoughts and memories were blurring together, flashing behind my eyes... fuck, he was finishing the job.  Making me a himbo, just like the rest of them...

Alan looked up at me through sweat-drenched bangs, his chest heaving with breath, his arms now thick and trembling from the transformation. His jeans had split open completely, revealing heavy, flexed thighs and the outline of an aching erection beneath what little fabric remained.

I had to hold out.  Stop this somehow.

Brian moaned involuntarily, now shirtless, his torso glistening with sweat and covered in hard, defined muscle. His nipples were erect, pecs bouncing with every breath, his eyes glassy.

I wanted to give in.  Offer up my ass to anyone who’d use me.

The other two men writhed on the floor, swollen and dripping with the last stages of their change.

The air sparked. The room tilted. The mirror pulsed like a heartbeat.

"RUN!" the reflection screamed.

I had done this...

No," I said.  I heard my own voice in the distance, cutting through the chaos like a blade. "You're not in charge anymore.”

The swirling mess in my mind stopped.  I could do this.  I could bring myself back.

The mirror pulsed again, but I didn’t look back. I stepped toward Alan.

He was still crouched, breathing hard, half-clothed and trembling with too much muscle. I placed a hand on his chest. "Not like this," I whispered.

His swollen pecs softened, shrinking to something more human, more natural. His arms deflated, but the shape remained strong. His gut—always a point of insecurity—melted into a flat, sturdy torso. His posture straightened, the tension gone from his shoulders.

Alan blinked up at me, dazed but smiling. He looked like himself. The best version of himself.

I moved to Brian next. His breath was still ragged, but when I touched his shoulder, the desperation eased. His grotesquely bulked-up frame narrowed, sculpting itself into something leaner, more purposeful. His shirt was ruined, but his mind was returning.

One by one, I did the same to the others. Reversing the assault.  Refining their transformation. Helping them become the people they’d be proud to see.

"You okay?" I asked Brad, laying a hand on his chest.  The fog started to clear from his mind.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "Yeah, I think I am."

"You want to go back? The way you were before?"

He paused and thought.  Really thought.

”Nah.” he said, shaking his head.  “I like this. I mean, I volunteered because I was pretty sure I’d like it. But... can I keep the lawyer stuff?"

I smiled. "Absolutely. Let’s try this. You’re a gaybro, proud and hot as hell. But you’re also sharp, confident, and charismatic. One hell of a lawyer, and... just in case you still want to work at my clubs... you make a mean cocktail."

"Maybe part time on the bartending." His grin turned cheeky.  “Still gonna wear the thong.”

"Deal," I said, and stepped back.

‘Whose woods are these?  I think I know.’

The mirror didn’t show my other self anymore.  Only my true reflection.

-----

We were on the road again by noon.

Van sat shotgun, boots up on the dash, sipping a neon slushie like we were on vacation. He looked over at me and grinned. "You sure about this?"

"We can’t leave it like that," I said. "All those guys we transformed. If there’s even a chance I can help them get their lives back –“

“Bro, not like we want our lives back – you made me the best version of me," Van said, winking. He stretched, letting his shirt ride up and reveal his ridiculously hard abs. “Like... thanks for the offer dude, but no regrets here.”

I gave him a side glance.  He wasn’t exactly the same Van he’d been that morning – sure, he kept the muscle and the relaxed attitude and the love for gay sex, but I'd given him back his memories and his name.  Caleb... though he still preferred to go by Van.

“Still,” I said.  “I didn’t give everyone a choice...”

“You’re a good man Jake,” Van smiled.  “And I love a road trip, so let’s do it.  As many of your guys as we can find... let’s give them the choice too.”

“You've got it stud,” I chuckled.  “First stop – Lafayette."

-----

I’d like to tell you that I found every guy that I’d ever transformed, but that’s not true.  I never found The Terminator himbo again, or that cop from Montana, or the bartender in New Mexico.  We did our best, but some people just vanish into their new lives.

Most of the guys I transformed chose to keep what I’d given them – at least... some of it.  I only turned one guy back into the skinny loser he’d been before he met me, the rest of them just wanted to keep a skill or two.  Memories.  Relationships.

A few guys were perfectly happy.  Mostly old clients.

Remember Ollie and Buck from Broken Bow?  They wouldn’t change a thing.

-----

We were in a hotel room, somewhere in the midwest.  Van had gone to grab us smoothies. I needed five minutes alone.

I stood in front of the mirror.

My reflection looked tired. Not the body—my body was lean, strong, honed from running, lifting, surviving—but the eyes. They were still waiting for the next hit, the next threat, the next betrayal.

"You did good," I said quietly.

The mirror didn’t answer. It didn’t do that anymore.

I closed my eyes and reached inward, the same way I’d done to others. A warmth flooded my chest, like sunshine under the skin. I let it wash through me.

“Lets start with the hair,” I said softly.  “I’m thinking blond.  Styled like a surfer.”

My dark hair faded into a dirty blond colour, long and swept back.

“And the face... I’m twenty-five and handsome,” I said to the mirror.

The last time I'd changed myself, I’d gone from a middle-aged man to a young stud.  This was much more subtle.  My jaw got a little bigger, my eyes got a little brighter...

“I could probably use slightly bigger pecs,” I told the mirror.  “And my ass... let’s make it a fucking shelf.”

In the mirror, my reflection grew a little in the chest, but my joggers strained to hold my new ass.  I bounced up and down and watched the way it jiggled with absolute joy.  I’m still vers, but I’ve definitely got a preference for bottoming.

See, I don’t need to be a top anymore.  I don’t need to be in control all the time.

I forgave myself for getting kidnapped.  For being the kid I couldn’t save. For the people I hurt trying to stay safe. For building a whole life on running away.

I gave myself something else instead – trust, openness, belonging. The spark of joy that came from simply being.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror and made a few minor changes.  Diamond calves.  Thicker eyebrows.  Really great delts.

My reflection was smiling.

“I wanna be Jake,” I said, locking eyes with myself.  “I’m happy being Jake.”

I blinked, and felt my dumptruck ass settle into existence.

Van stepped through the door with two smoothies in hand and paused, eyes locking on me.

“Damn,” he said, grinning. “Every time I leave the room, you get hotter.”

“Just finally feeling like myself.” I laughed, the sound easier than it used to be. "Like I'm worth loving."

"Babe, I love every version I meet." He set the drinks down and crossed the room, already shedding his shirt. “I loved you pretty fucking hard this morning.”

“You’re not wrong,” I said, my grin widening as he pressed up against me.

We’d been like this for weeks now – maybe longer. We'd started off with two hotel rooms every night, but somewhere near Seattle... we only needed one bed.

He kissed me hard, all tongue and heat, and I melted into him. We’d done this so many times now that we moved together like muscle memory. My back hit the couch and I pulled him down with me.

“You good?” he murmured against my skin, already rutting against my thigh.

“Always,” I whispered. “With you? Always.”

He growled low, a sound that never failed to get me hard. I tugged at his waistband, impatient, and he helped me out by kicking off his shorts. We were already half-hard from the kiss, from the tension that never seemed to break.

“I like you like this,” he said, dragging his hand down my chest, grazing a nipple. “Ready to be used.”

My breath caught. I nodded.

He shifted me easily, his strength always turning me on. I offered myself up without question. I wanted him to take me. I needed it.

He spit into his hand, slicked his fingers, and reached between my thighs. His touch was rough and practiced. One finger slid inside, then two, pressing just right, making me gasp and squirm. I grabbed my cock and stroked slowly, matching the rhythm of his fingers. The contrast of pressure—inside and out—made my knees weak.

“God,” I moaned. My hand moved faster. Each time I stroked up, my hips bucked into his fingers.

Then he was lining up, cock pressed firm and hot against me. Van never teased or made me wait... he knew I was ready.

“I got you,” he whispered.

“I know.”

He pushed in. Slow. Deep. Familiar.

The stretch burned, but it was the kind that reminded me I was alive. That I wanted this. That I wanted him. Every time he filled me like this, it felt like coming home.

He started moving—rolling his hips in that rhythm he knew drove me crazy. I wrapped my legs around his waist and held on. His hands were firm on my hips, guiding me into every thrust.

“Touch yourself,” he said, and I did, our bodies syncing up like they were made for this.

I gripped my cock again, jerking harder this time, matching his pace. Each thrust sent a jolt through me, my slick hand sliding over my shaft, wrist brushing against my abs with every stroke. My whole body buzzed, every nerve on fire. My chest rose and fell in ragged gasps as I got closer.

“You’re mine like this,” he murmured. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I gasped. “Always.”

“That’s right.”

My orgasm hit like a freight train. I bit his shoulder to keep from screaming, my body locking tight as I came in thick, hot spurts across my stomach. He didn’t slow down. He fucked me through it, taking what he wanted.

When he came, it was hard and deep, his whole body shuddering as he filled me. He groaned into my ear, hips stuttering, hands gripping my thighs with bruising need.

We collapsed into each other, sticky and breathless and tangled up like we’d been made this way. I kissed his shoulder, the taste of sweat and skin grounding me.

“Smoothies are gonna melt,” he mumbled.

“Then we’ll just have to get more,” I said, burying my face in his neck. After a long time I finally got up. Walked over to the mirror while he went off to shower.

I looked great.  I felt great.  There was just one thing missing.

I reached down into my duffel bag, pulled out a pair of pink briefs, and slipped them on. Neon pink. Tight. Ridiculous. Perfect.

I looked in the mirror again. Flexed, just a little.

"Not bad," I said.

It’d be time to get on the road again, soon enough.

Alan’s making plans.  Dad’s got a private jet.  Brad can’t wait to party.

I’ve always wanted to see Berlin.