As the hat was left behind, it ended up deflating itself. Like a bursted balloon as it sunk into the floor aside for some rectangular lump, revealing a bar of soap which read the word “NO FAG”
The British detective wannabe ran back the way he came, turning from the corner as he stopped outside a shop which was closed for the day, it had multiple mannequins-though one was empty for some reason...though the reason was planned by the curse.
Almost instantly, like a suction cup, his entire sherlock get-up gets sucked into the empty mannequin of the shop, phasing through the glass display walls with ease. Losing his trench-coat as his ordinary looking office-wear.
“The fuck-!”
Almost instantly, he clasped his mouth shut. Shocked at the fact he cursed, almost so naturally and instinctively, and not even using the word “bloody” behind it! Almost as though he was already adapting to the American Culture he read about in school-
“School’s for losers man!”
His mouth moved on his own again, as his hands flailed wide open, far apart as though they were tied to two separate poles. Hands swelling deeply as they clench in resistance to the bind, knuckles cracking and popping as they PULL out of those invisible cuffs with those weight-lifting, sucker-punching hands of his.
“Ain’t gonna be stuck in Juvy no more!”
He flexed his own biceps like his prized treasure, watching the muscle thicken up as humps and a huger wrist strained against the white button down. Pecs straining against the formal attire as masculinity argued against his attire, preferring prison garment over the shit he’s wearing now.
He felt disgusted, shoulders and back fighting against the dress code as layers and slabs of muscle press tightly onto the uncomfortable office wear. Wide back supporting the cobblestones rising in his tummy, popping outward as a hunky figure that Duke wished he had finally shown itself onward in his reflection. His already erect boner was at full mast yet...the image of himself buff didn’t do much for him, sure he was sexy and hot, the ladies love him anyway! But he was missing his desire, his swag.
His rebellion.
Palms placing into his slacks, mutating them with his delinquency as the cuffs of his own dress shirt separated from the top, breaking into identical black spiky wristbands. The brown slacks rising upward as his legs swelled long and wide, thickened yet flexible due to tons of heists and parkour-being an experienced criminal such as himself. Buttocks pushing out rounded and square, pushing backwards out as his member thrusted forward! Balls churning as his old self is speedily being pushed out, ready to explode.
Bristles of hair grew onto his body, caucasian American genetics overtaking the British as black wisps done his legs, arms, chest and package. An imaginary image of himself naked can be seen in his reflection, fucking hot dude-he’s the fucking hot dude.
His feet rebelliously BURST through his shoes thanks to the het power of the curse, toes having an incredible urge to run and kick balls, yeah he plays dirty SO WHAT! Formal sissiness revamping into a cheaper more durable material, shifting to white and red laced high tops, as his slacks shift to a dark blue jean-cargo like material, spawning multiple pockets as his army shorts now supports the meaty thighs he now posses. He would totally fit the army if only he weren’t so rebellious.
Striding cockily, the buttons popped off and bounced onto the glass panel, onto his neck as a dark black band develops itself onto the areas the buttons hit. Swirling around his neck, as the buttons shift to spikes. A black spiky collar identical to those on his wrists surrounded his neck, somewhat big now but not for long.
His chest can be seen briefly, noting JABS at his nipples as two silver rings looped and pierced into those meaty pecs, dusty trail of black hair laced around them-his prized treasure trail echoing his youthful but rugged sheen. An eighteen year old over 6ft commanded the sleeves to loosen themselves into pale yellowish cotton, as the remaining areas of his shirt seal up with white being corrupted into black-with a pale yellow skull imprinted onto the area above his chest.
The punk loved it.
His boner throbbed, a secret urge filled within his mind. A need to be dominated by a dominatrix, a hardcore authoritative gal to whoop his ass as he influences her to become bad like him. As he moved towards the “lady”, opening his eyes, he spotted his ex-self in place of that gal he dreamed off, spotting that fag in the window screen, as tartar sauce burned up from his toes to top.
“That’s so gay dude....!” A lower octave took hold , hints of a Bostonian accent surfaced. Neck filling up according to his strong body as his own mouth teased himself, before gruffly spouting out the words.
DESTROY THAT FUCKING GAY SHIT ALREADEH!
“Gotta punch...!” A deep bass echoed out of his throat, signifying his confident manliness as he moaned with an “Ooooh....” , turning the old gay on while as fueling the new het with cockiness and bravado that all the straight men have. His experienced thievery and mischief did him justice as his left palm began tracing and rubbing that bulge over at his throat, stimulating his newfound strength while the right immediately GROPED THE TIGHT AND-
“SMASH!” Smashing the glass to the right, the place where he saw his ex-reflection of his gay self, demolishing it without mercy.
“HAHA FUCK THEM!” He sneered, eyes filled with disgust and anger to the gays as he let behind a trail of destruction and mess that would alert the officers any minute. His chin squared off as his wicked pearly whites shone against the shattered glass.
“Fuck the cops, they’re all a bunch of pussies anyway!” He spoke, as his long brown ponytail gets chopped off, the remaining bits of brunet shaved off black aside a line from the middle of his scalp all the way to the back.
Etched below his lower lip grew a black soul patch, trimmed into a rightful square whilst the top unshaved bits INFLATED in a second, and spiked, as a new bright green dye sets into his proud spiked up mohawk.
“FUCK THE RAPPER! HE WOULDN’T KNOW MANLINESS IF IT HIT EM!”
A multitude of piercings studded his ears, intense metal as one pierced between his left brow as it thickened and conjoined the other, forming a sweet unibrow that oozed a mixture of bad boy rebellion and sexiness, lacking any shred of school-bought intelligence as he only knew on how to rely on the skills he earned when fighting on da streets.
“TCH!” Clenching his fists, fingers itching to wield his knife, as a sharp weight was felt in his back pocket which brought comfort to him. He turned around, as his nose pushed out at the bottom, a stud pierced on the right as it POINTED out the scent of a fight.
His eyes intensified, years of juvie made him INTO A MAN! At least he expected fights in prison and respect was earned. NOBODY FUCKIN’ TOUCHES HIM WHEN HE DROPS THE SOAP!...as the flames from within melted the emerald green to a turquoise. The delinquent was ready to give that fucker a piece of his mind.
“YOU messin’ wit me PUNK?!!!” Dunkin flared at the straight rapper, being part of his own gang-a fully ANTI-GAY one, he could not stand being insulted that. Nobody questions The Dunk’s personality.
He could wrestle with his strong biceps he earned from the years spent in juvy, he could do any of those man challenges to prove his masculinity. Heck! He could even out rap or sing outta here! But when someone questions his sexuality-oh boy, you’re in for death.
“Dude, you’re a fuckin’ fag! GET OUT!” Jayden sneered, giving the middle finger at the criminal. He was prepared to skool that punk wannabe, once and for all. Nobody messes with J-Dawg.
The two delinquents drew out their respective weapons, Jayden wrestled on his brass knuckles as Dunkin drew out his knife. The two of them hated each other, as they prepare for a fight to show which of their hoods is manlier, and which one truly is the gayer one.