Moe hated birthdays. When you’re 67, a birthday is nothing but a cold reminder that you are one year closer to the grave, and one year further away from the man you once were.
Moe used to be a great man. He got straight A’s in high school, and joined the military right after graduating, eventually moving onto the marines. After several years dutifully serving his country, he decided to go to college. Then med school. By the time he was 30, Moe was a veteran, a doctor, and happily married with one kid and another on the way.
Now, on the cusp of 68, Moe was alone. He’d grown apart from his wife, who quietly divorced him just after his 50th birthday. His kids barely spoke to him anymore. His grandkids, even less. Retirement was boring; endless days of golf, watching TV, and building model airplanes. Moe missed being a young man. He missed being happy. He missed being useful.
But most of all, Moe missed being sexy. He knew it was vain to think so, but Moe always used to be the hottest guy in the room. Even into his late 40′s, Moe would draw lustful looks from all the women in his neighborhood (and even some of the guys!) This was to say nothing of his dick; Moe’s wife would often joke that she slept with half the players on her high school football team, and none of them could hold a candle to Moe when it came to sex. But a fractured knee, a bad back, and arthritis in both hands made working out impossible, and like most guys his age, he had a... how shall I say... hard time keeping it up. By the time he was 60, Moe’s once perfect body was but an echo of what it used to be.
“What do you want for you birthday, dad?” his daughter Shelly asked him over the phone late last week. Moe had to resist the urge to say “forty pounds of muscle and a dick that actually works.”
Instead, he settled on “a time machine.” Shelly thought it was cute—if totally unhelpful. Moe suspected she’d just buy him a new set of golf clubs. A crushing reminder that the only sport he could play required only a modicum of strength.
On the morning of his birthday, Moe awoke to find a small wrapped package at his doorstep, along with a bottle of champagne. Attached was a note, which read:
Hey dad! Sorry I couldn’t find an actual time machine... I hope this will do :) Much love, Shelly.
Moe smiled. His daughter was so thoughtful. He unwrapped the box to find a brand new wrist watch... though not the kind he was expecting.
First off, the watch was huge. It belonged on an arm much thicker than his. Furthermore, it wasn’t gaudy and expensive like the watches on all the old farts he’d play golf with. No, this was a sport watch, light and durable. Un-flashy and inexpensive.
This was a watch for a young man.
Moe chuckled. As ill-suited he was to wear this thing, he couldn’t deny that just looking at it made him feel a decade younger. He took the watch from the box and secured it around his left wrist. Unsurprisingly, it was way too big. The face of the watch immediately slipped down on his emaciated arms, and continued to do so no matter how tight he fastened it.
Moe sighed. Oh well, he thought to himself. Instead, he went to work on the bottle of champagne. His arthritis-ridden hands had a rough time gripping the cork. After a few tries, it became clear that opening the bottle was going to be a challenge, perhaps an insurmountable one.
“Stupid... fucking... bottle... AGH!”
Moe felt all his muscles tense, and with one swift pull, the cork came free and rocketed across the room. Bubbles erupted from the bottle, drenching everything from his t-shirt to his new watch.
“Goddamnit,” he grumbled, scanning the room for a fresh towel, “I hope this damn thing is waterproof.” But when he lifted his hand to inspect the watch, he noticed something strange: no longer did the watch hang loosely on his wrist. As a matter of fact, the watch felt too tight, and Moe had to re-adjust it so it wasn’t digging into his skin.
Stranger still; his arm wasn’t looking like his arm. Moe’s arm was frail and thin—at least it had become so after years of skipping the gym. This arm was decidedly less so. One could even say this was the arm of a man who worked out on the regular; his bicep curled into a nice ball as he bent his elbow, and his previously liver-spotted skin was looking clear as day.
Impossible. Moe thought he was seeing things. He looked down at his other hand just to make sure he wasn’t going crazy. But sure enough, his right arm was going through the exact same changes. Skin was clearing, hair was darkening, and muscles were forming faster than what was humanly possible.
Moe ripped off the watch and tossed it onto the kitchen table. “No no no,” he said, shaking his head, “this can’t be happening.” He hoped removing the device would stifle any changes to his body while he figured out just what the fuck was going on, but he was wrong. The gears were already in motion; it was only a matter of time before Moe became an entirely new man.
He pulled off his champagne-soaked t-shirt with considerable difficulty. The changes had rapidly spread to his back and chest, increasing the width of his body by a little under a foot. Moe wasn’t even this big when he was in the military.
The hair on his chest—which had been getting progressively grayer for the last two decades—was now a warm auburn. He watched as it moved further and further away from his body, expanding out into his field of vision until he could scarcely see his own feet. His chest was growing. Right before his own eyes. There was a loud CRACK as Moe’s notoriously bad back corrected years of terrible posture, and he felt his chest and shoulders jut out and extra couple of inches.
In all his years of being a doctor, Moe had never seen anything like this. It was as if his cells were regenerating at lightning speed, knocking him back almost twenty years. When he looked in the mirror, he saw not Moe the 68-year-old retiree, but Moe the 45-year-old DILF from down the street. Only 45-year-old Moe wished he had this much muscle; this guy staring back at him in the mirror looked like he spent more time a the gym than working at a hospital.
BUZZZZZ
Moe’s cell was going off. It was Shelly. Moe cursed under his breath as he fumbled with the smart phone. His fingers had grown thick just like the rest of his upper body. Just tapping the “answer” button on the touch screen proved extremely difficult.
“Shelly?”
“Dad!” came his daughter’s jovial voice on the other end, “did you get my present? It should have gotten there already...”
What was he going to do? Should he tell her what was happening? Should he ask her to call for help?
But Moe—who could barely take his eyes off his own reflection—decided to play it cool. “Yes!” he said, “I did. Very thoughtful of you. Thank you so much.”
There was a pause on the other line. “You okay, dad?” Shelly finally asked.
“Me? Oh I’m... fantastic, actually. Why? Do I sound okay?”
But she didn’t even need to answer; Moe could hear his own voice changing. All the rasp and grit that had accumulated over the last half of his life was washing away. He spoke with the depth and clarity of a young man.
“Shelly, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay, I just wanted to wish you happy birthda—“ He hung up. Moe was sweating bullets. It was only a matter of time before Shelly and the rest of his family found out. And what then? Would they be happy? Disgusted?
Moe looked up from his phone back into the mirror, and gasped. In the time it took him to call his daughter, Moe had dropped at least another ten years. The pelt of auburn chest hair he’d sported through his late 30′s onward was actually receding back into his body, making him look even younger. He had come face to face with a 33-year-old version of himself—albeit with about three times more muscle mass.
“Jesus Christ,” Moe whispered. He didn’t know whether to be shocked or aroused. The man in the mirror was everything he ever wanted to be: young, sexy, and healthy. But it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be.
Moe lifted his bicep and gave it a big flex. The way the muscle wrapped around his arm... the way his clear, youthful skin ebbed and flowed like canyons across his body, casting deep shadows in the warm morning light...
His eyes grew wide. This was exactly what he had asked for: a time machine. Within just a few minutes of wearing it, the wrist watch had literally sent him backwards in time, transforming him not only into the person he used to be, but the person he’d always wanted to be. He continued to watch as the lines and winkles vanished from his face, putting him a lot closer to 27 than 33. He looked younger than his oldest kid. “Fuck,” he said to himself, “Christmas is gonna be real weird this year.”
A soft “pop” drew Moe’s attention down to his sweat pants. They were already pretty tight when Moe had bought them late last year (a feeble ploy to motivate himself to work out more. It didn’t work). Now, they were literally bursting at the seams. Of course; the growth that had begun in his arms and spread to his upper body had eventually made it down bellow his waist.
Moe tore off what was remained of the sweats, and plopped down on the couch to watch the show unfold. Moe had always loved working out his legs. He loved showing them off on his morning runs throughout the neighborhood. They had withered away along with the rest of his muscles, but here he was, watching them grow back faster than he could scream:
“HOLY SHIT!” His hips thrust upwards. The arrival of Moe’s new ass was simply astonishing. A pound of thick muscle for each cheek, forcing him to completely re-position himself on the couch. Moe groaned as he ran his hands over his ever-expanding thighs and up under his butt, grabbing a fistfuls of fresh, fleshy ass.
His feet tapped anxiously on the wood floor, each “thud” growing louder and heaver as he transformed from a size 10 to and 11-and-a-half in matter of seconds. The balls of his new calf muscles were almost as impressive as his biceps, and his troublesome knee popped back into place. As good as new.
Everything about Moe was perfect: his arms, his skin, his chest, his legs... he had dropped over 40 years and gained over 40 pounds. The only thing that hadn’t changed yet was his—
“Oh shit.”
Moe scrambled to remove his boxers (which were behaving a bit more like briefs at this point). Please please please, he silently prayed. Please let it work. Please let it be hard. Please let it be big.
But nothing could prepare Moe for what he was about to see emerge from his underwear. Never in a million years could Moe imagine such length, such girth, such raw male energy come from between his own two legs.
Moe’s erect cock stood at an incredible 9-and-a-half inches—a full inch longer than it was in his prime. Moe hadn’t experienced a natural erection in ages. The sight of his dick, hard as a steel beam and pointed directly towards the ceiling, was enough to bring him to tears. He would have actually cried... if he wasn’t so goddamn horny.
Moe sank deep into the couch and closed his eyes. With one hand, he worshiped his flawless new body. With the other, he jerked off. Slowly, methodically, bringing himself to the brink over and over again with long, graceful strokes.
He must have been edging like that for over an hour before he finally came. This was the birthday present of a lifetime. He wanted to enjoy it. By the time Moe reached climax, his body was dripping with sweat and his dick was slick with pre-cum.
The now 25-year-old bodybuilder arched his back and gritted his teeth, growling like a hungry animal as he shot torrents of cum onto his chest and all the way up to his face. Even the best orgasms he experienced as a young man were nothing compared to the one that rocked his body on the couch that morning.
And it was only the beginning. Moe spent the rest of his birthday masterbating on-and-off while getting to know his new body. He now weighed an insane 230 pounds, and the only clothes he had that actually fit him were some of his old army garb.
Later that evening, Moe went to the gym. It was his first time back in over a decade. The euphoria he felt returning to his favorite equipment and hitting his favorite muscles was greater than any gift he had ever received. Shelly might have thought she was giving him a token of love and appreciation. Little did she know that she’d given her dad an entirely new lease on life.
As he was getting changed in the locker room, Moe spotted one of his old golf buddies coming out of the showers. Unsurprisingly, the man didn’t recognize him in the slightest.
“Nice watch!” the old fart said, pointing to Moe’s wrist.
Moe smiled down at the man, for what he hoped would be the last time. He was never setting foot on a golf course ever again.
