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carf-writes · 10 months

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DC- hire me!

Inspo under the cut

#dick grayson #nightwing #dc comics #batfam #batman #comic cover #faux magazine cover #i spent too much time on this

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onyx-archer · 1 year

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Hey, a second commission sharing post in one day? It’s more likely than you’d think. This one is by the artist Sinizade on Twitter (you can scan the QR Code, or click HERE!), and it features Abigail and Olivia on an in-universe magazine cover promoting their first single off of their upcoming third album. The song is called “Not Your Nymphet!” and is loosely based on the novel “Lolita” by Vladimir Nabokov, but it’s sung from the perspective of Dolores Haze. I went into this whole thing with the idea of the song, and Sinizade helped bring the vague elements (like the broken iconography of the movie versions of the book) into a proper cover image. I wasn’t even sure about the angle she chose, but it ended up looking stellar in my opinion. I actually wanted to make something involving this concept for a while, but didn’t think I’d commission a magazine cover. It forced me to make the band name (VANDOLLZ), and the name of a publication in universe (Guerilla Radio), and to properly name the song and album (”Not Your Nymphet!” and “Burnt Books Make Burnt People” respectively). I just wanted to make something like an album cover with the imagery of the broken Sunglasses, Lollipop, and Scrunchie... as if they were broken by Dolores herself. I’m going on and on about what this is because I put a lot of thought into the symbolism and the meaning behind the song, and the album name. The song is because a lot of people don’t really get the point of Lolita, at least in my view, and I wanted to focus on the fact that Dolores was a victim in the story, and how stuff like the Sunglasses symbolize the skewed view of the story. The Album Title came about because of the quote "Where they burn books, so too will they in the end burn people" by German writer Heinrich Heine. He was a writer that would later have his own work burned by Nazis, save for a single poem that would be republished without his name attached by the Nazis. It struck me as a good quote. I have a few more ideas based on banned/challenged books that factor into the album, though some of those books will be more contested than others. They’ll usually have some sort of spin on them though. I actually have a second commission from Sinizade in the works right now, so look forward to that if you like this one, and go follow her on her socials.

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almondcroissantsandink · 3 months

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!!! my piece for the @leonkennedyzine <3 <3 <3

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newestcool · 1 year

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Kristina Semenovskaya for Vogue Russia November 1998 Photographer Axel Bernstorff Newest Cool on Instagram

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nouveaufaux · 1 year

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Michelle Yeoh

#Michelle #Yeoh #Michelle Yeoh #fake magazine cover #faux vogue #nouveaux faux #vogue indonesia #fake vogue magazine #fanmade magazine #fanmade vogue magazine #michelle yeoh magazine #actress

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nozomikei · 2 days

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#sobbing on the floor #joyejoyu only did the faux magazine covers for the one single month #so now I'll never be able to commission that from them #TAT #devastated

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jeelsphoto · 1 year

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wroteclassicaly · 2 months

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18+

When your best-friend Steve Harrington asks you to hold his fleshlight for him.

It wasn’t really something that either of you planned on happening. But then it just did. Steve had been pent up from work all day from typical annoying patrons, smart mouthed jocks from the high school, that were freshmen when he was a senior (tenfold karma, Harrington), and Keith’s particular way of criticizing his every move out of some form of nerdy revenge. You could count on one hand the times that Steve had to bail out of your two person movie nights on Fridays (Saturdays were for dates and Sundays were for hanging with the rest of the parties and running kids around), and tonight happened to be one of those occurrences. Usually, it would be for self-care or whatever reason he needed to spend alone, but when he’d barely shed his leather jacket upon entering his house, dusting snow off of his boots — he was about to crawl out of his skin by the time his massive palm was wrapped around the receiver, thumb strangled by its cord.

He was… off? And seconds after he’d cancelled without much reason, the line went dead. You wanted to give him space, especially because he usually called back to tell you goodnight. But after being unable to sit still and finish a generous portion of the large pepperoni pizza you’d ordered the two of you, you were grabbing your keys for the journey over to his place.

~*~

It didn’t take but five minutes before you reached Steve’s house, pulling in behind his familiar car. You dangle the copy - made spare from your pointer finger, trekking your way up to the door and letting yourself in, wiping at your wind-whipped, wet eyes. You know he’s not on the first floor, its entirety dark and a little cool. So you toss your coat and keys onto the small table beside the entryway, kicking off your boots to join his on the cheesy welcome mat, and you make your way to the second floor landing to his bedroom. Seeing a buttery glow spill out from the crack in his doorway, you’d proceeded, only to be met with a sight that only appeared in your late night fantasies… and pretty much your every waking thought.

Steve is facing his mattress, sheets tousled and clothing pooled beside him, stood on the left side of his bed, naked and glistening in the perspiration of teasing, observing his massive length as he edges himself, moving the toy slowly over his cock. You know what it is, you’ve seen it in magazines and stores, in some porn. A fleshlight, they call it. Your brain goes through a million thoughts at a couple seconds to spare.

Why doesn’t he have someone here to do this with? He can get a date?

Is he okay? Obviously he’s very okay.

Holy fuck… he’s big.

Holy fuck… he’s beautiful.

A little more than usual, waiting on the summer sun to tan his freckle and mole spattered skin. His hair has grown longer, curling at the nape, his shoulder blades and biceps defined from a regular regime. And that ass, the way it flexes and is perfectly plump, connecting to those hairy thighs and big feet, his own toes curling when he twists, a wet squelch coming from the faux cunt. There’s beautiful chestnut curls scattered across him sternum and connecting to a trail that surrounds his base and those full, heavy, balls. That cock… thick, barely able to be pushed back into the toy, his fingers having to peel back its soft pink layers to help ease the slick way, decorated in a vein that matches the one running along his forearm

And you must make some sort of noise, because your lips part to let in a gasp of air, causing his body to twist in a sudden defensive stance, clenching the toy so tight with a ‘caught’ pose. You go to move and the door spills open completely, slamming back into his dresser and shaking old sports trophies. You’re panting, seeking out the words to apologize, Steve is wincing from how hard he still is, attempting to cover his modesty. But the air shifts in the room and you gain a boldness, a restlessness that won’t be satiated, nor a conscience satisfied if you don’t ask.

“Can I help you?” A customer service line from working at Scoops with him. But it comes naturally.

Steve, biting his lip, disheveled — he nods. And it’s happening. A tickling ease, a line crossed.

“C’mhere.” He’s waving with his opposite hand. His ribcage expands as he gulps in lungfuls of air.

You’re at his side shortly, shyly. “W-what do you need me to do?”

His spare hand pushes back through his hair, amber gaze gone to a midnight sky, teeth milky white, defined jawline covered in stubble, and a perfect nose. His voice is raspy when he lets you know what he needs.

“Go get on my bed, lay back for me. Please?”

A fucking gentleman.

All of your clothes feel too tight, smothering you as you lay back on his bed, his pillow immediately invading you. Your hands are unsure of where to go, but he approaches slowly, kneeling his way into kneeling by your feet. “I’m gonna… Can I use this between your legs, honey? You don’t have to do anything, just let me do all the work.” He motions to the toy and you want nothing more, suddenly offered the world.

It’s your turn to say it now. “C’mhere.”

He’s using that enriched tendon covered forearm to prop himself up beside of your head, slotting right between your knees, his remaining hand wrapped so tightly around the toy that his skin is pulled taunt over his knuckles. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip, releases it, licks it, and then he’s asking, “Can I?”

“Go. Do what you need to do. I’m right here, Steve.”

If you thought the toy was loud before, the sound of him working his lengthy girth through its walls right in front of you now — it’s surround sound. You’re watching, unable to help it, bones threaten to be dusted to ash from how hard your heart is ramming beneath your breastbone.

“Wanted to come over, but it’s been a shit week, an even shitter day. And I just needed to —“

“— Release some tension, right? I get it, I do it too. I have a cock that goes… I —“ you stop your horny rambling, face feeling too much warmed.

Steve’s face scrunches, teeth gritting, and he twists the toy until slowing it almost completely. “Tell me what you do. You fuck yourself with it, right? When everything is too much and not enough? Fuck, honey.”

He doesn’t verbalize, but you don’t either, simply accept the toy and hold it against your denim covered cunt, leaving Steve’s hands free to hold on either side of you, his nose nudging yours as he leans down — here, present. You copy his earlier motions, using the toy to glide along his length as he thrusts into it with a new focussed vigor. “That’s it. You feel so good, honey. Workin’ me so right.”

“I’m soaking — fucking — wet for you, Steve. Just so you know.”

His hips stutter and his nose finds its way into your eyelashes, cheek pressing into your own. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum into this thing, and I want —“

“— You want what, Steve?” You hold your breath.

He answers without fear or pause. “You.”

// Eat me paragraph //

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flowerescentt · 2 years

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harry styles x rolling stones

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titaniasfairy · 3 months

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your stepbrother sam is so mean :(

(inspired by conversations w: @mortalheartache @zapernz @geekforhorror )

18+ MDNI!

cw: stepcest, mean!sam, fem!reader, sam is lowkey a perv, doggy, degradation, name calling (slut, whore, bitch)

stepbro!sam is such a meany to you :(( always tugging your hair while you’re studying or reading a book of some sorts.

he’ll come up behind you while you’re focused on finishing your homework with your headphones in and pencil moving on your paper when he pulls on your hair hard, causing you to yelp and yell out.

“sam stop! i need to get this done and you’re distracting me!”

he laughs at your annoyance while standing over your frustrated frame. his cock can’t help but twitch at your pouty lips and angry eyes.

“who cares, it’s not that important anyways. is it the end of the world if the little straight-a student doesn’t make the dean’s list?”

sam mocks your pouty face and bats his eyelashes with faux-sympathy. your eyes roll at his stupidly hot face while slamming your textbook shut and walking off into the kitchen.

his eyes immediately dart to your swaying hips and how good your ass looks in that skirt.

stepbro!sam doesn’t do laundry, like ever. even when there are absolutely no clean clothes left to wear. your parents make you take turns on who does what each week, but you always end up doing it for him anyways.

you’ll barge into his room while he’s blasting hard rock through his cheap stereo, plugging your ears with your fingers to try and drown out the noise.

“jesus, what do you want?” he barks at you and closes his laptop quickly (you wonder what he’s looking at…). he’s sat back in a desk chair with his arms crossed.

“for the love of god sam, do the laundry. i have absolutely no clean underwear!” sam smirks and stars down at your tits and how obvious it is that you’re not wearing a bra. your perky nipples peak out from the thin t-shirt your wearing and sam’s eyes are glued to it.

“i can see that.”

your jaw drops and you scoff, turning around and storming out of the room. “you’re such a creep, sam!” you yell out.

you don’t know that he purposefully doesn’t do the laundry so he can watch you prance around the house in no bra or panties under your clothes.

stepbro!sam never has any regard to you at all, always leaving stuff behind to clean up, never doing the dishes, tracking his cigarette smoke smell everywhere. he doesn’t even leave any hot water for you after he showers!

you’ll be all ready for your shower, skincare done and clothes off, all ready to start a new day. but when you step in and turn the water on, it’s freezing cold. after jumping away from the cold water, you realize the reason why and let out a scream in frustration.

before you can even think, you’re wrapping your towel around your nude body and storming into sam’s room.

“are you kidding me? you can’t even leave any hot wa-”

“well this is a nice view”

sam is laying on his bed with some magazine in his hand, an arm laid over his head to prop himself up. after realizing what he said, you try to cover yourself up more with your arms but there’s no point.

“no point in covering what i’ve already seen, sweetheart.”

once again, you’re turning around and storming out of his room, slamming the door and yelling “you’re so gross!”

sam’s grateful you didn’t hear him jerking off to the thought of you in the shower, water running so long it starts to turn cold.

but he’s meanest when he’s got you face down, ass up on his mattress. he holds your head down with his right hand and grips your ass with his left, slamming you into the bed beneath you.

his length pounds into your gummy walls and grazes your cervix, definitely leaving a bruise for later. sam’s balls are hitting your clit with each thrust, bringing you ever so close to bliss.

“don’t you fucking cum yet, whore. you think you can walk around being a sassy little prude and get away with it?”

tears sting in your eyes and your cunt clamps around him, his cock reaching the deepest spots inside you.

“sammy i’m sorry!! just please please let me cum!!”

“don’t you fucking dare. little bratty sluts don’t get to cum on their step brother’s cock.”

you try and let out an apology but your pathetic sobs just take over your words, filling the room with stupid cries and squelches of your juicy cunt.

“i don’t wanna hear it, bitch. now shut up and take it.”

#bear rambles #sam monroe smut #sam monroe x reader #this is really nasty #hayden christensen

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merakiui · 3 months

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Hi!!!! For the prompt thing!

“Is that how you see me?” With Azul?

Hi hiiii!!! :D thank you for asking!!! <3

(fwb dialogues)

"If we pretend to be a newly married couple, do you think this hotel would give us the honeymoon suite?" Idly, you scroll through photos of the hotel and its rooms, admiring the jacuzzi bath and the wide, tall windows with a breathtaking view. "It's a nice place. Kinda expensive, though."

Azul looks up from the economics magazine he's been poring over for the past fifteen minutes now. He sits against the headboard of his bed, and you're lying flat on your back. Your legs are draped over his lap in a casual sprawl. Sometimes, when you're side by side like this, he thinks otherwise of your arrangement.

Just marry 'em already, Floyd had once said. You're doin' all the usual shit couples do. What's one more step?

Although that 'one more step' is more like a giant, impossible leap across a yawning cavern with a horrendous drop. He can't risk it.

Azul peers at your phone when you hand it to him. He flicks through the images, assessing quality and aesthetics in one go. "It's not bad. Why a honeymoon suite, though?"

"I dunno. It sounds fun. I think we'd pass as a believable couple."

He exhales through his nose, amused. "Is that how you see me? As a stand-in husband?"

"Your words."

Azul rolls his eyes playfully, an impish grin tugging at his lips. He sets his magazine and your phone on the bedside table before moving to lie beside you. You peer at him as he props himself up on one arm.

"Your implication," he counters, leaning in to rub noses with you.

"Your choice." You wink, preening under the affectionate treatment. "So what do you think? Vacation as a faux married couple—yes or no?"

"My answer should be clear enough." Azul drags you into a lazy embrace, pressing his forehead to yours. "Come with me to pick out a ring. If we're going to commit to the act, we might as well cover all of our bases, yes?"

"Fine by me."

"My dearest angelfish, you've made me the happiest man," he exaggerates.

"Save that for when you put the ring on me, charmer."

"It doesn't hurt to practice now. Shall I lend you my surname for rehearsal?"

You loop your arms around him, legs intertwining. "Why, how kind of you."

The rest of your gratitude is expressed in a slow, sweet kiss.

#twisted chit chat #devintrinidad #meraki dialogues #he's so sly... using this as his opportunity to buy your wedding ring in advance AAAAAAAA OTL #you and azul are so past the 'just fucking' stage ooooo he's so down bad so in love!!!!!

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eldoniousrex · 4 months

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More Urbie pack reveals! This time we got one of the two faux magazine covers from the pack.

Still more reveals to come!

#digital art #digital drawing #digital painting #digital sketch #rpg #tabletopgames #mech #illustration #battlemech #battletech #tabletop wargaming #tabletop roleplaying #scifiart #scifi #mechwarrior #mecha #mecha art

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thepastisalreadywritten · 1 month

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It was always going to end this way. The truth about Catherine Middleton’s absence is far less funny, whimsical, or salacious than the endless memes and conspiracy theories suggested.

In a video recorded and broadcast by the BBC, the princess says she has cancer and that she had retreated from the public eye to deal with her condition, while attempting to shield her children from the spotlight.

Instead, she had to contend with the internet giggling about whether she’d had a Brazilian butt lift.

My colleague Helen Lewis summed it up succinctly this afternoon: “I Hope You All Feel Terrible Now.”

What is there to learn from such a sad situation? The internet is made up of people, yet its architecture abstracts this basic truth.

As I wrote a few weeks ago, at the center of this months-long story was essentially “a sea of people having fun online because it is unclear whether a famous person is well or not.”

Underneath the memes was always something a little bit gross and indefensible.

Perhaps humans are just wired this way — to gawk and gossip.

There’s nothing new about hounding a member of the royal family or invading the privacy of a celebrity to sell tabloids or go viral.

You don’t even have to be a scold about it: Famous people are wealthy and beloved at least in part because they’re fun to talk about.

Exactly what we do and don’t know about their internal lives is part of the allure — the discourse comes with the territory to a degree.

But Catherine Middleton, of course, is a human too.

During this saga, I kept thinking about the reappraisal of Britney Spears in 2021, as well as the backlash toward past media and tabloid coverage of her rise.

A New York Times documentary dredged up old coverage of Spears from the mid-aughts, showing a young woman clearly in distress, being picked apart by glossy magazines.

Her suffering became entertainment. The response to this film was swift.

Some of the people and institutions that had shamelessly delighted in her pain backtracked: Glamour publicly apologized to the pop star on its Instagram account, noting, “We are all to blame for what happened to Britney Spears.”

Contrast the Spears reckoning with the Middleton drama and, if you’re being generous, you can see some of that newfound attitude in the media.

I was struck by Lewis’s observation that “Britain’s tabloid papers have shown remarkable restraint” throughout this mess.

Progress, perhaps, but what’s also telling is that they didn’t really need to do the dirty work: Random people on the internet were doing it for them.

They recklessly speculated, memed, and used their amateur sleuthing and networked faux expertise to concoct elaborate, semi-plausible explanations for her absence.

Was Catherine’s face actually Photoshopped from a Vogue spread? It wasn’t, but the conspiratorial tweet got 51.1 million views anyhow.

Missing from much of the discourse was the idea that its main character was a person who was likely struggling.

In essence, the internet democratized the tabloid experience, turning the rest of us into paparazzi and addled editors workshopping headlines and cover images — not to sell magazines but to amass some kind of fleeting online popularity.

In my least charitable moments, I see this toxic dynamic as the lasting legacy of social media — a giant, metrics-infused experiment in connectivity that has had a flattening, pernicious effect.

In 2021, I interviewed Elle Hunt, a journalist who’d tweeted an innocuous opinion about horror movies one evening and woke up to find she was trending on Twitter, her feeds choked with thousands of furious replies and threats.

When I asked her to describe the experience of becoming Twitter’s main character for the day, she summed it up thusly:

“You’re repurposed as fodder for content generation in a way that’s just so dehumanizing.”

Three years later, these words resonate even stronger.

What Hunt described to me then as “a platform failure,” feels to me now like a learned behavior of the internet, where people, famous and not, are repurposed as fodder for content generation. The cycle repeats itself endlessly.

This afternoon, the memes about Middleton shifted — from jokes about her whereabouts to jokes about how awful it was that everyone had been making fun of a cancer patient.

Feeling bad about the memes tweets immediately became a meme unto themselves.

Despite the tone shift, the reason for these posts is the same: They’re a way to take a person and repurpose their life for entertainment and engagement.

If this sounds exhausting and depressing, it’s because it is.

But the internet is also too big to be one thing. Clicking through social media this afternoon, I saw dozens of heartfelt testimonials, apologies, and well-wishes for the princess.

For a moment, from my perspective, it felt like watching a collective of people come to their senses.

A recognition, perhaps, of the humanity of the person at the center of the maelstrom.

Then, only a few seconds later, I saw a different post. It was a screenshot from the blockchain platform Solana, where users can create their own cryptographic tokens for others to invest in.

The name of the token in the screenshot is “kate wif cancer,” and its logo is a still of the princess sitting on a bench, taken from this afternoon’s video.

The coin’s market cap briefly surpassed $120,000. Only six minutes later, the price had cratered — the result of a standard memecoin sell off.

An awful thing happened. Some people made a joke about it. Other people made some money. And then everyone moved on.

NOTE: Edited

#Princess of Wales #Catherine Princess of Wales #Catherine Middleton #Kate Middleton #British Royal Family #cancer #chemotherapy #internet #memes #fake news #disinformation #misinformation #platform failure #social media

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feministsforkatemiddleton · 1 month

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ALL THIS. Please email this to Zeynep Tufecki.

For a long time, Middleton was a nearly silent presence. In the years that she dated Prince William, she rarely spoke in public; many people didn’t know what her voice sounded like until the couple gave an engagement interview in 2010. But she had long been photographed by the paparazzi, and their attention moved in stages. As girlfriend to the future king, the tabloids hoped to catch her in a misstep or tacky moment. When she was photographed in 2008 wearing an emerald-green halter top and Day-Glo shorts at a disco-themed party, the U.K. tabloid the Daily Mail wrote, “The less than demure yellow hotpants she was wearing did little to conceal her dignity.”

After she became engaged to Prince William, photos of Middleton wearing bikinis on beach trips still appeared on magazine covers and gossip websites. Commentary circulated on blogs and in glossy magazines about how her physique fit (or didn’t fit) a certain paradigm for the female form; eventually Middleton was photographed sunbathing without a bikini top. But the conversation also shifted, ironically, to whether she was appropriately covered up. Alleged experts would pick apart whether her hemlines were long enough and if “royal etiquette” dictated that she could show her shoulders in a strapless gown. When a stiff wind blew up her skirt, Middleton was scolded by tabloids for not properly fitting her dresses’ hems with weights. In the months preceding her 2011 royal wedding, a tabloid debate raged about whether she was too thin, which the newspapers disguised as faux concern for her health. (It didn’t help that Middleton entered her marriage at around the same time that social media and smartphones spread across the globe, allowing Instagrammers to speculate publicly as much as columnists did.)

#princess catherine #princess of wales #british royal family #team wales #prince william #sexism #brf

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cooketimm · 1 year

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Bruce Timm faux cover art from Emerald City Comic Con’s Monsters & Dames annual art book, 2011. This is tribute to the Weird/Eerie Magazine horror covers.

#bruce timm #horror pin up #cover art #cover

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gay-transformation-stories · 1 year

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The art of being a good neighbor

Steve and I have been married for 5 years. We loved watching movies together on the couch with a bottle of wine in the evenings. Sexually there was rarely anything going on, we did love each other, but from a purely visual point of view I was never the type of man Steve liked. I worked as an art historian and was of average build and wore glasses. Steve was blond and brown eyes.

Steve rather liked muscular and athletic men. Just like our neighbor Warren, a rude man with a big toned body and an arrogant grin. He was a poser, he liked to show off his body and he was a fitness trainer. Most of the time he was unfriendly and dismissive to us. Still, Steve looked at him as he hadn't looked at me in a long time. I could feel Steve losing interest in me over the years. I was jealous of Warren's body and wanted Steve to look at me the same way. Despite hard training, it was impossible for me to look even remotely as good.

Ever since Warren moved in across the street from us, we've had constant problems with him. He threw garbage at our door, he let his dogs shit on our lawn, and he played loud music all day. I kindly pointed it out to him, but he ignored me.

Steve always looked disappointed because I couldn't get my way. He said nothing, but I could feel his contempt. He thought I was a sissy. I decided to do something. I could no longer watch as I slowly lost respect and love from Steve. I had to show him that I was a man too.

Like every day after work, I came home to see a movie with Steve. Warren's music was on full blast again. I was pissed and wanted to face the situation, I had an idea so I walked over and went to Warren's house and knocked on the door. But nobody opened.

I decided to enter the house. As I entered and walked into the living room I saw Warren sleeping on the couch.

The first thing I noticed again was his extremely well-trained body. He was wearing only sweatpants and a gold chain around his neck. I stopped and looked at him closely, looking for a flaw to make me feel better but I couldn't find anything, Warren's body and face were perfect.

His house had been big and expensive, but you could tell right away that he had no taste and was not an intelligent man either, there were no books, only tit magazines, a huge TV the size of a wall and a tasteless faux leather couch.

The air was filled with the smell of cheap body spray. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust and the furnishings seemed thrown together.

Warren was shirtless on the couch, snoring loudly. His massive body took up most of the couch and his long muscular legs hung over the end. His pecs were moving up and down in time with his snoring, and I couldn't help but smile. He looked so ridiculous I almost forgot why I envied him.

I caught his foul smell of sweat and was glad I could get out of that disgusting house right away. But first I had to do something. I pulled a book out of my backpack. I had taken it with me just to be safe, without really knowing why. It was an medieval art book with various spells.

I began to recite the spell and the book began to warm up. I felt the magic flow through my body, suddenly the book started to glow and I lost consciousness.

Suddenly I heard the alarm clock ring. I was lying in my own bed, I was tired and wanted to go back to sleep until I remembered what had happened: I was at Warren's house casting the spell... I jumped up and ran to the mirror.

I looked at myself in the mirror, I was in Warren's body now. Suddenly I was masculine, fit, tall and very muscular.

I looked at myself in the mirror and couldn't help but admire my new, perfect body. I tensed my muscles and moved to see what they look like and how well I could control them. I was amazed at how fit and attractive I looked and finally feelt confident and desirable. It was an incredible transformation and I couldn't believe it had really happened.

As I stood in the mirror, I saw an ID card on the dresser. But something was strange, next to my name was not my face to see, but that of Warren, or rather the face that belonged to Warren. We swapped bodies but kept our lives. I was still an art historian and married to Steve, but with the body of a fitness model.

Warren, on the other hand, was still an uneducated, noisy douche bag. However, he was now short and fat. He was still our annoying neighbor who liked to pose topless in the driveway to show off his muscles, only now he didn't have any, just a skinny body.

Sometimes when I come home from work and see Warren washing his junk car in the driveway, I have to smile. Then I stop and like to talk to him about my training plan.

I notice how he secretly examines my body with his eyes and then looks down at himself and I feel the jealousy in him. I explained to him that as an art historian I have a special sense of proportion and beauty and that it is therefore impossible for him to have a body like mine. Then he usually gets angry without knowing how to answer it. He never was a smart guy. I love it when he feels small, so I always stand extra close to him when I'm talking so he has to look up at me. Steve and I laugh at Warren, who we call the "wannabe gangster".

Since the body swap, I've been fucking Steve like an animal every morning and night while he's on all fours in front of me. The fact that Warren was secretly watching us from his house made me horny. There's nothing hotter than gay sex with a body that used to belong to a hot straight man.

The End

#bodyswapstory #bodyswap #bodyswapm2m #gaybodyswap #gay couple

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