Coming soon in August (Patreon)

I was hoping to get this one out in July, but it's not quite there - but I have 16 pages done and am in the home stretch. No images this time around, just words. A lot of words. So many words...

Here's a short preview of some of those words for everyone, and my Daddy friends will have a much longer taste in their inboxes.

I know I've had fewer stories this year, and I'm sorry about that, but at least you're only paying for what you get! It's been a busy year so far, but I have some sexy stuff coming for you all and a lot of plans for the back half of the year. Thank you for sticking with me.

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Jackson stood in the middle of his living room, his head tilted to one side as he stared at the chairs arranged in a semi-circle. He adjusted the placement of one chair by a few inches, then stepped back to survey his work. Maybe the throw pillow would look better flipped the other way? He tried that. Satisfied, he nodded to himself and moved on to the next task on his list.

He knew it didn’t matter. By the end of the day, this wouldn’t even be his house anymore, he didn’t think. Once he and his friends transformed, they’d be men with homes of their own. His heart beat faster at the thought. Him - a man! Not just a man, but one of those gods he’d see around town…the ones with muscles so big they had to walk differently from everyone else.  Each step they took was an act of controlled power, a dance between strength and grace. They were always dressed formally, in tailored slacks and elegant dress shirts that fit them like second skins. The fabric stretched and curved with their every movement, highlighting the sleek lines of their muscles and the confidence in their strides. The men were like living artwork, with their impeccable attire as the perfect frame.

He couldn’t believe he was on the cusp of joining their ranks. Jackson took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the anticipation tingling in his veins. 

Jackson checked his phone and looked at the Voice Notes icon on his screen, its sleek design taunting him with the promise of transformation. All he needed to do was hit play and he would transcend his current form to emerge as a chiseled bodybuilder in the comfort of his living room. But no, he needed to wait. It was agony, each minute stretching like taffy, but it would all be worthwhile when he and all his friends evolved into a league of distinguished DILFs together.  Maybe they’d even be neighbors! That would be perfect. They could get together after work, pop open some more buttons on their dress shirts, roll up their sleeves, and smoke cigars on the back patio while they grilled steaks.

Just a few more minutes and his dream life would become a reality. The image of himself as a DILF was so clear in his mind that it pushed aside the struggles he faced at school. The teasing, the mocking, the constant feeling of inadequacy - they would all vanish once he no longer looked like the scrawny, bullied boy he was now. School wasn't exactly a living hell, but he couldn't wait for it - and all the challenges of adolescence - to be behind him. 

As he got a glass of water from the kitchen, he wondered what sort of career awaited him in his new life. He’d gotten really interested in coding over the past year, but nothing in that field seemed like a very DILFy job. Sure, it probably paid pretty well, but the thought of being hunched over a computer all day didn’t exactly fit with his image of a muscular and confident man. Maybe he could become a personal trainer. That seemed like a job that would suit a DILF perfectly. Helping others achieve their fitness goals, showing off his sculpted physique, and being surrounded by gym equipment all day - it was definitely a possibility. Plus, he could set his own schedule, allowing for plenty of time to spend with his friends turned daddies. 

Or perhaps a firefighter - the rush of saving lives combined with the authoritative uniform and chiseled arms seemed fitting for his new identity. Jackson grinned at the thought of himself as a firefighter, striding out of a burning building with ash-streaked biceps flexed, the hero of the day.

Then again, he might be destined for something more glamorous - real estate, maybe? The idea of selling luxurious homes to wealthy clients appealed to him. He could see himself giving tours of elegant properties, negotiating deals in his sharp suit, and attending open houses in upscale neighborhoods. It could be the perfect career for a man of his newfound stature.

Despite the endless possibilities swirling around in his mind like a kaleidoscope, he remained unworried. No matter what career he ended up being assigned, he was confident it would fit him like a glove. His job would be his passion - he would excel at it and take great pride in providing for his family through his work.

Jackson tipped the water glass back, the last drops trickling down his throat as his eyes happened to flicker to the refrigerator. With a sudden jolt of inspiration, he set his glass down and snatched the family whiteboard off the fridge. Gripping it tightly, he hurried into the living room and set it on the mantel.

Then, in terrible teen-boy handwriting, he wrote:

JACKSON          ELIJAH          DANNY          TORREY

It would be a good reminder of their old names, he thought.