Transforming

Keith was a huge Transformers fan. Even into his early twenties, he found himself buying all the toys, reading all the comics and (much to the dismay of his more “literate” friends), watching all the movies. It was a childhood habit he just couldn’t kick. His snarky roommate Chris even went so far as to tell him, “maybe it’s time to grow up a little.”

But change wasn’t a word in Keith’s vocabulary. He was happy transforming the little toys that splattered his desk, but transforming himself was another matter entirely.

One day, while Keith was scrubbing some message board, he stumbled across and e-bay listing from someone who claimed to have actual props from the Transformers movies. Most of them were stupid, little trinkets and costume pieces that Keith did not recognize. The one that did catch his eye was a giant Transformer gun, which the site claimed: “was used by Cade Yeager in Age of Extinction.”

It looked insanely cool. Sleek metallic surfaces, diamond sharp edges. Within seconds, Keith was already imagining himself fighting alongside the Autobots, the heroic weapon pressed against his muscular bicep…

He shook his head. Perhaps just hanging it above his bed. Yeah, he thought, that would look cool. He didn’t even think to look at the price (which was suspiciously low). Keith bought the gun, and spent the next several days practically waiting in front of the door.

It came on a Monday afternoon. Chris was off at work, and Keith was in his room watching a bootlegged version of the latest movie, which still had yet to come out on VOD. The doorbell rang. Keith sprung up and rushed outside.

“I have a package for a mister… Wahlberg?” The UPS guy looked at his manifest, perplexed. Keith noticed the long, heavy package in his hands.

“I’m he,” he said without a thought. Signed. Grabbed it. And closed the door.

The wrapping was off before the UPS guy could even leave the building. Keith let out a proud sigh of relief as the sword-like weapon glistened under his trembling fingers.

He tried to pick it up. It was too heavy. Damn, Keith thought, this must really be the real prop. He thought back to the movies, to Mark Wahlberg, and all of his dense, rippling muscle. Picking it up must have been easy for him. But for a short, slightly overweight guy like Keith, it was damn near impossible.

If only… For the first time, Keith was possessed with a strange desire. The desire to change himself. To transform.

He walked over to Chris’ room. Chris wasn’t exactly a stud, but he did have his fair share of weights to keep him in shape. Keith didn’t even know where to start, reaching instinctively for a 15 pounder. Unsurprisingly, it was even heavier than the gun.

“C’mon,” Keith grunted, forcing every ounce of his will into his two hands, which were gripped tight around the metal bar. He needed to get ripped. He needed to get swole. He needed to be…

The weight shot up. Keith jumped back in surprise. It was light as a feather now. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” he said, his voice sounding deeper, the hints of a Bostonian accent scratching at his throat.

He started to do curls, first with his left hand, then with his right. It was astonishing how easily he slipped into the routine. After a couple of minutes, Keith wasn’t even thinking about lifting. His mind had wandered on to other things, like what he was going to do with that prop gun, who had sent it to him, and whether his agent had booked him for any new jobs over the weekend.

“What? I don’t have an agent,” Keith told himself with a scoff. What he didn’t notice, were the biceps inflating off of his arms, the traps pressing up against his neck, and the pecs now trying to force themselves out of his sweat drenched tank top.

Once his arms were sufficiently pumped, Keith moved on to his legs. They looked gangly and thin below his now colossal upper body. Nothing a few squats couldn’t fix, Keith thought, and started to squat down in the center of the room.

The effect was instantaneous. Keith’s khaki shorts tore along the crack of his ass as pounds and pounds of muscle and fat built themselves onto Mark’s butt. Within the first few squats, he had made a complete mess of his clothes, which were falling in pieces onto the floor as the muscle worked its way down his thunderous thighs.

“Grr,” Mark grunted as he lifted himself back up, feeling the burn in his now titanic hamstrings. As he did, he felt the soft silk of his gym shorts as they appeared around his bare waist. They sent a shiver of pleasure as they brushed up against his cock, which was already starting to harden.

The heat coming off of him was intense. He looked up to see condensation on Chris’ window. The sweat coming in torrents off his brow forced him to bring a large, veiny hand up to his face. “Goddamn, it’s hot in here,” Keith said, gripping his tank top and pulling it over his head. It protested, clinging to his skin and pulling tighter and tighter around his shoulders.

After a full minute of struggling, he was able to get the damn thing off. Even in his hand, he could smell the sweat coming off it like smoke. Curiously, he pressed it to his face, inhaling the raw masculine stench, the pheromones, the testosterone. It made his mind go numb, his limbs grow slack. But most importantly, it made him hard as a rock. Nothing turned him on like a good workout, and now it was time to work out the most important muscle of all.

Right there, in Chris’ room, Mark dropped his shorts. Something about seeing his dick fully erect, waving up and down after having been just unsheathed, made Mark insanely horny. He couldn’t wait until he got to the bathroom; he needed release, and he needed it now.

He started to jerk himself off right there, beating his meat like a fucking animal as each tug brought him closer and closer to the brink. “Fuck I think I’m gonna fuckin’ cum,” Mark said to himself. His whole body tensed. He froze, gritted his teeth, and growled, “GRRRRAAAGGGGHHH.”

The jizz painted the full side of Chris’ wall, spattering all over the weights and even out the door and into the hallway. Mark fell back, panting hard and watching as his big sweaty chest heaved up and down. The orgasm was so huge, he needed some time to recover.

After a few minutes, Mark Wahlberg got up and headed to his room. Or at least, he thought it was his room. The whole place seemed unfamiliar to him, and as he pushed open the door, he knew this couldn’t be his place.

“What is this shit?” he said looking at all the Transformers stuff. The last thing he wanted to be thinking about were those damn movies. He needed a break, a vacation, and this was surely not the place to do it.

As he was heading out, he noticed something sitting on a chair by the door. Might as well take something, he thought, and picked up the cap. It was a little tight on his head, but he didn’t care. He was sure that once he took his shirt off, Transformers would be the last thing anyone would be paying attention to.