Hair Bear Stare (Patreon)

It’s complicated.  There are days where I absolutely hate what I am and what I can do to people, and there are days where I love every second of it.  Sometimes I feel like I’m cursed with a burden beyond my control, but then there are times where I feel like I’m handing out winning lottery tickets.  And it’s all a bit of a moot point.  I’m not actually the one doing any of it; I’m just the thick, wide door through which these forces enter our world.

There’s no stopping them.  If I try to keep my eyes closed the vision goes right through the lids.  It’s the same if I try to use a blindfold or glasses or stay in an isolated room.  Structural barriers will temporarily impede the flow, but it’s only a matter of time until I’m seeing through walls like I have x-ray vision.  The only thing I can really do to prevent it from happening is to isolate myself far, far away from any other people.

I did that for a while at first.  I rented a cabin in the mountains and prayed that I could make it without an incident, which I almost did with the exception of one young man at a gas station along the way.  But then I started to wonder.  I’ve seen in my dreams that I’m not the only one out there with this affliction, and these forces are going to punch through regardless, so why should I punish myself?  On top of the “gift” of the sight I’d been given I’d also been changed in a similar manner and my life was just fine, if not better than ever.  So why did I have to become a lonely hermit somewhere?  I’d been chosen, but I wasn’t doing any further choosing, so how was it my fault?  It’s not like I have a contagious disease that I know for a fact someone will catch just by being around me.  And when I tried to make it happen to someone it fizzled, which, as far as I’m concerned, absolves me of responsibility.

All I wanted was to get a little bigger.  Growing up as a runner, my body was tight and toned, but I could never bulk up no matter how hard I tried.  I ate until it felt like my stomach would burst and spent hour after hour hefting weights, all to no avail.  My definition popped and I was always the most shredded guy in the room, and I don’t want to sound as if I didn’t appreciate the fact that my athletic body was still above average; it’s just not what I was after.  We always want what we can’t have, so my fixation was on my meathead friends, the guys whose arms were the size of my thighs and whose pecs bulged like inflated pool floats.  I didn’t want to be lean and wiry; I wanted some shape.  I wanted a round, meaty rear instead of a firm little bubble.  I wanted thighs that strained against my pants, not legs that fit comfortably into skinny jeans.  I wanted my upper body to look like an inverted triangle, not a rectangle, and I wished my face wasn’t so sharp and pointy.

Don’t get me wrong, I was well aware that I was a handsome guy.  My cropped, rust-colored hair and constant tan from all the time spent running shirtless outdoors in just my short-shorts looked good, and I knew that as much as everyone else did.  I never had a problem getting laid or landing interested women, nor did I ever get any complaints once the clothes came off as one benefit to my toned, thin frame was how big it made my six inches look by comparison.  My lifter friend Brent was actually more hung than me, but his extra bulk made him look smaller in the showers.  I still don’t have that problem.

When I found the talisman in an antique shop, I thought I was just buying a novelty.  Not for a single second did I believe that it would actually give me the “strength and vitality of a bear” the way it promised.  I just thought it looked cool.  The necklace itself was made from a supposed bear claw that hung beneath a small blue crystal attached to an old leather cord.  I didn’t know if it was even a real claw or a real crystal; I just thought it would look cool and draw attention to my modest pecs whenever I wore a tank-top.  I never intended to be anything’s avatar, let alone turn people into living archetypes, yet here we are.  I still don’t think the claw came from a bear, at least not in the traditional sense, because while I now have plenty of strength and vitality, the brand of ursine I represent isn’t the kind walking around on four legs out in the woods.

I was looking in the mirror when it happened.  I’d only had the talisman for a few days and hadn’t actually worn it out yet, so I was giving myself a once-over with it on to see how it looked.  It sat nicely between my solid little pecs though was a bit more ostentatious than it seemed in the store, but when I tried to remove it the claw dug into my chest.  As soon as I grabbed the leather cord the claw detached and pierced my skin, slipping inside as if it was being pulled and taking the blue crystal along with it.  There was no pain or blood or even a wound, and it happened so fast that I wasn’t even sure I’d really seen it, until the changes started.

My hair went first.  At twenty five years old my scalp was still thick and full, but all of that changed when my hairline suddenly pulled up and back, settling at the North Pole of my skull while the rest of my sharp face began to fill out.  My nose softened and my chin and cheekbones vanished beneath a tag team of flesh and stubble, my full, rounded new features and balding head looking entirely out of place above my whipcord body.

At least until the alterations moved south.  My neck puffed and swelled, looking engorged and bloated before my shoulders pushed away from each other and my arms began to grow.  The penetrated pecs followed shortly after, inflating and expanding the way I’d always dreamed, but burying the chiseled definition in the process.  The same went for my shredded abs as they pushed outward into a prominent muscle gut, still firm, but now round and curvy where my midsection had once been flat and tight.  It occurred to me that I was suddenly looking at my naked body and that the clothes I should have been wearing had vanished, but I didn’t have time to process that before I watched my cock twitch and harden as it inflated to a girthy beast with balls so big a bull would have been a far more appropriate comparison than a bear.  The aching forearm seemed to shrink a moment later when my toned thighs turned into a pair of meaty trunks, finally giving me the ample bottom I’d always wanted in the process.

There was a brief pause as I stared at my impossibly thickened frame in the mirror.  I was broad and beefy and round and firm, so big that my old body could have fit comfortably inside the new one I’d somehow grown.  Instead of a runner I looked more like a linebacker or a powerlifter, and just as I was starting to feel a wave of embarrassment at my missing definition it became meaningless.  Even if the bulk I’d acquired hadn’t stolen it, the layer of rust-colored hair that began sprouting all over would have certainly obscured it.

Starting at my plump new pecs, radiating waves of fur began punching through my once-smooth skin.  Wispy, peach fuzz phantoms spread up my chest and over my shoulders, spilling down my expanded back behind while simultaneously waterfalling across my hefty new gut in front.  The silky strands darkened in the same pattern immediately after, then grew thicker and coarser until my wide bulk was covered in a rusty carpet.

And the changes still weren’t done.  As my untouched beast began spraying all over the mirror, a leather harness apparated around my torso, accentuating my juicy new pecs and the broadness of my expanded, cannonball shoulders.  It also made my muscle gut seem to stand out more than it already did, a fact that was further enhanced when a leather jockstrap formed around my softening monster.  It lifted and spotlighted the furry melons that had become my rotund rear while my inflated package threatened to spill out the front, a hazard that became all the more likely when I took my first plodding, boot-covered steps.

I’ll never forget how it felt to stumble out of the bathroom and into a new reality.  The version of myself that had existed just a few moments earlier was gone for good.  I discovered a wardrobe that consisted entirely of revealing leather, and a world that accepted my exposed, furry girth as entirely normal.  Friends that I’d known for decades didn’t so much as bat an eye when they saw the Dom Daddy that I’d become, and my surprise only grew when I learned that most of them were also eager to take advantage of my predicament.

That’s part of how the archetypes work.  Gay or straight, it doesn’t matter as long as there’s even a sliver of desire for the forces to wedge open.  That’s how it is with my friend Brent who I mentioned earlier.  He’s identified as a straight stud for the decade that I’ve known him, and I’ve seen the brunette Adonis plow through women at a sprinter’s pace, yet he suddenly started showing up at my apartment eager to be fucked senseless as if it was part of our routine.  He’d show up, strip down without being told, and then drop to all fours and present his muscled bubble for the taking.  And I took it, my head spinning the whole time at how it felt to be bigger than the bodybuilder whose size I’d idolized for so long.

In the hours and days immediately following my change, I couldn’t muster any anxiety over what happened.  I knew it was wrong, and I still remembered how my life had been before, but that sense of normalcy was pervasive enough to penetrate even me the way I was now penetrating my gym buds.  I kept expecting to be embarrassed whenever I stepped outside in nothing but a leather jock, boots, and a tiny leather vest, but it never happened.  It didn’t bubble up when I was suddenly fooling around with men instead of women, either.  If anything, I felt more calm and confident than I ever had, like I really was the mold of masculinity that I appeared to be.

That was certainly how everyone acted around me, with the guys I’d always tried to emulate now looking up to me like some kind of sexy big brother.  There were varying degrees of infatuation, ranging from some who just liked to look all the way to guys like Brent, who wanted to be owned and diminished.  Like everything else I was surprised at first to discover that we kept the sculpted stud clean-shaven from the eyebrows down, and had begun working him through an ever-shrinking array of chastity devices.  With each decrease in size we made a corresponding change in his wardrobe and the way I treat him, going from boxers, to trunks, to briefs, to now where the formerly hung hunk sitting next to me at the bar has his caged nub nestled snugly in a pair of kid’s briefs.  He has one more smaller cage to go, at which point we’ll switch to diapers, and there’s still a part of me that’s surprised at how excited I am by the whole process.  Already the muscled pretty-boy has to ask for permission to do just about everything, and he’s only able to spend the allowance I give him when he’s been a good boy, but it won’t be long until he’s taking his protein shakes from a bottle and waddling around the gym with a puffy diaper under his shorts.

Still, as much as I was learning about how my altered presence changed people from a behavior standpoint, I never expected to do so physically.  The first time it happened I was horrified, all the more so because it affected someone I knew.  I was hanging out with my friend Ryan, already a stocky, hairy little hunk whose Mediterranean heritage was obvious as soon as you saw him, when a strange vibration began buzzing behind my eyes.  There was a growing pressure in my skull, and just as I began to wonder if I was having a stroke, I looked over at my olive-skinned friend and felt the energy flow out of me.

Though it happens in the blink of an eye, it always seems torturously slow.  That’s how it was as I watched Ryan’s thick, raven hair actually grow thicker, the stubble on his cheeks turning into a dense, trimmed beard as he began to inflate.  Like me, his t-shirt and cargo shorts vanished, but unlike me his naked frame didn’t seem to be losing as much definition.  He swelled with bulk, the ample, ebony forest that already covered his body growing into a curly pelt that obscured the deepend channels of definition below.  Where I’d become thick and round, Ryan looked like a furry ‘roid beast, his impressive club of a cock spurting like a geyser as he hopped to his feet in surprise.  He wasn’t the only one, and our surprise grew when the formerly 5’7” stud looked me directly in my wide, 6’1” eyes while a pair of bright cross trainers, small lycra trunks, and a spandex muscle shirt appeared on his swollen frame.

There was only a brief moment of confusion before the same ever-present calm draped itself over both of us.  It was disorienting to experience the shift in my perceptions of Ryan the way peoples’ perceptions of me had changed, but after only a few minutes we were both eagerly getting to know his new body.  It was the first time since my change that I’d actually been fucked by another man, and I added it to the list of things I never thought I’d enjoy.  Ryan certainly seemed to be having a good time, his personality having taken on an eager exuberance he’d never had before.  His speech was peppered with “dudes” and “bros”, and though I didn’t know it at the time, it was a reflection of the Gym Bear archetype he’d become.  He’d always been fit and athletic, but now the hairy hulk practically lives at the gym.  He works as a trainer, spending every moment of every day putting his altered body to work.  When he’s not lifting or working out he’s working someone else out, his unerringly positive new attitude spilling over to rope guys in the way my newly christened confidence did.  I’d seen it firsthand, how a confused straight boy would go from bashful and embarrassed to feeling like they were being fucked by their new bestfriend as Ryan walked them through each step of the process like he was training a client at the gym.

It took a few more releases of energy before I understood that it wasn’t an accidental process, nor one that I had any control over, and it took a few more after that before I understood the archetype angle.  The guys who landed under my gaze in those moments didn’t just inflate to varying degrees of beefy, balding, hairy hunks; they became entirely new people.  Their old selves and memories were still present beneath the acquired bulk, but along with the muscle came a new direction, a sense of purpose that guided their actions from that moment forward.  Where I’d for the most part become a Dom, Leather Daddy type, and Ryan had become an enthusiastic Jock, others became giddy Go-Go Bears, or short, stout Cubs, or supple Gainers, or Fashion Freaks, or pudgy Power Bottoms.

And even within each specific subset, no two people ended up the same.  There were buff Gym Bears with full heads of hair like Ryan, and there were some with slick, shiny scalps.  Some Leather Daddies were tall and broad, others were short and thick.  Some of the brawny Bottoms ended up with cute little rods and others were hung like a horse.  There was no telling which way a person would go, or what the end result would look like.  The bulk and the body hair were constant throughlines, but beyond that the details would vary wildly.

At least the contentment was another constant.  Other than a quick moment of disorientation and panic, any anxiety or dread over the outcome would be blessedly brief.  No matter how drastic or severe the alterations, within a handful of minutes at most the affected brute would already be adjusting to their new perspective.  There was no pain, no one got hurt, and people ended up happier than when they began.  That’s what made it so complicated.  No one asked to have the course of their life swapped over to another track, but, if the end result was a happy one, did that matter?  And was I just imposing my own judgements on the process?

That last question was brought to my attention when I was out at a bar much like this one not long ago.  I felt the energy surge, and next thing I knew I was watching a sculpted stud balloon.  He’d had the kind of body I’d always wanted, with broad shoulders, a tiny waist, and perfectly proportional arms and legs, but all of that vanished in an instant.  His prominent pecs plumped and sagged, his abs pushing out into a rotund, soft belly that matched his full, round face.  His arms and legs were still broad, but instead of being firm and sculpted they were as supple as the rest of him.  I’d expected the former Adonis to be horrified, but as his altered clothes settled into a too-small outfit that forced his new curves to hang exposed, his double, dimpled chin was all smiles.  And the next time I saw him he had a gaggle of his still-sculpted jock buddies hanging off him like he was the hottest girl in the bar, all waiting for a chance to feed him in the hopes that he’d let them take a crack at his heaping, hairy new ass later.

So now I don’t judge.  And as I look across the bar and feel the pressure start to grow behind my eyes, I don’t try to stop it, either.  Instead, I think of the gift I’m giving the long, lanky ginger as his short-cropped hair thins and settles as a male-pattern circlet around his smooth, pale scalp.  His face is already starting to fill out, his cheeks and chin not looking nearly as sharp but not being buried altogether.  At least not beneath flesh.  The dense, trimmed beard that’s now covering them looks good on the young man’s new bull-dog features, especially since he’s already dropped a significant amount in height.  He looked to be in the 6’2'' range before, but now he’s settling somewhere around 5’6”, his broadened shoulders and hairy shelf of a chest looking absolutely massive on his compact, stocky new frame.  His previously unremarkable waist has pushed out into a beachball belly, and the ass he never had before now hangs behind him like a counterbalancing weight.  The fact that his once-tiny, now-fattened log of a cock still looks so large against his trunk-like thighs is a testament to its impressive new size, and it looks like my suspicions about him settling as a Cub are being confirmed.

No one ever seems to notice when a person’s clothes vanish and the changes start.  They only pay attention at the end, once the body settles and the new wardrobe appears.  In this case, the stout little stud’s pumpkin-fur is only partially concealed beneath a cropped t-shirt that reads “Daddies’ Boy” across the straining chest, and a pair of small cotton shorts that are entirely redundant given the way the man’s inflated ass and girthy bulge spill out of them.  The spelling and punctuation on the shirt also seems intentional based on the way the shrunken man is looking up at the group of guys he used to tower over.  They’re looking down at him with the same intensity, and one of his friends, a dark-haired, polo-clad jock, has already thrown an arm around him to pull him close.  At one time I would’ve stuck around or tried to follow them to see how things shake out, but I can already guess.  They’re still undoubtedly in for the good time they sought this evening, though maybe not in the way they all expected.