Tatted

We were having tea next to each other. He poured me a cup. 'Here you go. This is how I like it.' He then sat next to me, silent. It was weird being at Anna's place without Anna. It was probably also a bit rude of her to make me bring her bike back and not be present. But it did not matter. I was weirdly enjoying the company of Sam, her new boyfriend.
Sam had the whole package. The beard I was trying to grow but which I was years away from getting and a body covered in tattoos. He had a sleek haircut and took care of his great body.
Instead, I was scruffy and a bit flabby. I dressed without much thinking: flannel shirts and whichever tee I had at hand. Gosh, I wished I had his body. The desire was so intense that I my crotch started filling up.
I turned and looked at him. He stopped stirring his cup and raised his chin. 'What the fuck, Andy! You look creepy.' But he couldn't finish the sentence that something magic happened: I entered his body and he transferred to mine.
He started looking around confused, he raised his hands and looked at them. I didn't give him the time to even mutter a word. I hit him with my head and his upper body fell on the table unconscious. I then found some tape on a shelf and sealed his mouth, tied his hands and dragged him to the storage room. I did all this quickly, as if I had done it millions of times. It helped that I knew the house.
Then I went to the bathroom, undressed and took a photo of me.

I looked awesome. I had the right tattoos in the right places and the 6-pack I had always dreamed of. And that beard. I jerked off right there, over the sink while with one hand I was touching my new face and my hair. I was ecstatic. I had to take a picture and memorialize the moment.
I then took some wax and remodelled my hair, went to Sam's room and pulled out some fresh clothes. A white tee, a pair of jeans. I loved pulling the tight jeans against my thighs. I liked the pressure of the denim against my skin. Then I put on his battered Dr. Martens. I rolled the hems of my jeans. I took another picture.

It felt good. I felt like smoking. I grabbed a package of cigarette that was lying on the table, I finished my cup of tea, took Sam's backpack and went out, in the streets of London. I could see some girls staring. I felt invincible and mysterious. I felt I could finally do everything I wanted.

Another frame

Even if I try, I have the feeling I will never become a hunk. I do try to do push-ups and I run in the park, but my body always remain flabby. It's as if my body did not want to change. Anyway, so far, this is my best shot.

My older brother tells me to wait, that I'm still young, that I will develop a frame as impressive as those that I admire on the covers of Men's Health. He lent me his copies of the magazine, which I read religiously, from cover to cover. One day I even sneaked into his room while he was not there and put on his sneakers and his shorts. I did some crunches than I took the tube of protein powder he keeps on his shelf and served me a shake in the kitchen. I wanted to grow so badly.
And I wished I could be like my brother. My brother is a stunner. Look at him.

Then the very same day I don't know what took me, but I started plotting. I waited for my brother that night. He came back late, but thank god he slammed the door and woke me up. While he was brushing his teeth in the bathroom, I sneaked into his room and hid under his bed. He got back, tossed his shoes in a corner and lay on his bed. He took out his phone and started watching videos on it. I could hear men moaning and I moved my head a little, just enough so I could see what was going on. On the screen a man was touching himself. And so was my brother. The bed was shaking a little, gentle vibrations that somehow turned me on. Then I changed plan. I originally wanted to kiss him while he was asleep, but the video gave me an unexpected energy. I stood up and, as dark as a shadow, I grabbed his penis. 'What the fuck!' he shouted, but it was too late. I could feel my body transforming, my muscles growing, my head spinning. His body turned more and more flaccid, like a balloon that is deflating. My hair grew shorter, my chin square. I could feel my rib cage changing position.
I grew taller and so did my grin. 'What the hell is going on', he squeaked. 'Hey, this is not my voice!' he said horrified. 'What is happening?'
Quite frankly I did not know. He had turned into my small little me and I had acquired his body, his shredded, unbelievably muscular body. 'WHAT DID?' 'Sshhh'. I put my hand on his mouth.
'You don't want to wake up mam and pop, do you? Don't worry. It's just a dream.'
He shook his head. It was not just a dream. His tears started flowing across my fingers.
'Don't worry, everything will be fine tomorrow.' I hugged him. I hugged that little deflated, ill-formed balloon. I didn't like it. I didn't like touching that ill-formed body, but I stayed there and waited until he stopped sobbing.
'Everything will be OK. Do not worry a bit.'
He nodded. 'Now, go to your room. And put some clothes on. We don't want people to find us this way. Then it will look even weirder.' He nodded even if he could not stop weeping. I kept him close to me and accompanied to what was once my room. I put him in bed. I kissed him on the forehead and also on the mouth. Why not? I thought.
I closed the door behind me. He was still weeping. I could hear him. So I went to bathroom and turned the shower on. I took a picture of me and then jumped in the tub. I touched myself. I spread my hands all over that ripped surface that was my body. Then I dried with a towel, I put on a tee and a leather jacket and went out. I could not wait to have men drooling all over me.

A Better Face

This is me. I took this picture this morning in the bathroom.

Many people tell me I'm cute. And that I'm funny. My boyfriend, too, tells me that.
Yet, I don't just want to be cute. I want to be handsome. I wanna get rid of my pimples. I wanna a more proportionate face, and piercing eyes. I wanna be like Jonathan.

This is Jonathan.
I took this photograph when we went to London for a school trip. He does not even know that I have taken it. Jonathan is gorgeous. He's got everything I'd like to have: the moves, the voice, the clothes, the coolness.
So I stole his life.
This afternoon he asked me to go over his place to help him with maths. I'm good at maths. I understand it. 'Hey, can you help me with this?' He asked 'I just really cannot solve it.' I leaned forward from behind his chair. I took his pen from his hand. 'You see? This is where you make a mistake.' His cheek was next to mine. He smelled of cool kid. His hair was gently touching mine. I had a boner.
So I turned and kissed him.
The kiss was longer than expected but it did not matter. Nothing mattered anymore. My boyfriend did not matter. My mother did not matter. My miserable life did not matter. For a second I could feel a flow of energy coming into me. I swallowed it as fast as I could. I felt reinvigorated.
When I removed my lips, Jonathan fell on the floor, unconscious. I kneeled and raised his head. That was my head, with my hair, with my nose, with my pimples. I gasped. I smiled. I couldn't stop smiling.
I ran to the bathroom and in the mirror I saw the extraordinary. I had his face. I had his body. I had his smile.
My penis was huge, turgid. I could not help it. I had to masturbate. Right there, with those hands, with that body, which I couldn't help touching. I was him, but I was still me. And I could feel my desire in direct contact with the body that I wished so badly. I kept on smiling.
I never came so hard. I felt overwhelmed with pleasure. It was magic.
When I returned to my senses, I got back to the study. He was still there, his face against the ground. I took off his clothes and dressed him in mine. I then wore his. I put them on slowly, enjoying every bit of this final stage of my transformation. I talked to myself: 'Jonathan, Jonathan?' enjoying every single syllabe of my lower voice. I felt his ripped chest under his cotton tee. I zipped his hoodies, as he often does. I was acquiring his mannerisms. Good. Great.
In the back pocket was his phone. I went upstairs, to his room. I looked myself again in a large mirror attached to his wardrobe and was, once more, overwhelmed with happiness. I retouched my hair. Nothing else mattered. Nothing. I touched my face and smiled again. 'Who's the cool kid, now?'
Then I lay on his bed covered in white-and-blue stripes. Even his bed looked like it was coming from a magazine. I took his phone out and took a picture of me as Jonathan. I uploaded it on Instagram so that the whole world could see the new me. So I could start believing it more myself. This is me, now.