Jack, surprisingly, starts untying you. He slowly and carefully undoes the restraints, and starts talking to you for a bit.
"I get it, you know. Like I said, this is from a family secret. But by family, I don't mean blood relatives. My folks weren't around on account of a mining accident for my pa, and my ma got done in during a miscarriage from malpractice. The lawsuits left me a lot of money, but no family to speak of. The state bounced me around for a while, but they got desperate towards the end and fostered me to a man that didn't quite meet all of their usual strict requirements, shall we say. Well, he was a slob in every way you can imagine, but he was a good man. I didn't graduate high school with high marks, but he made sure I did graduate, and that's more than most orphans can say. He was the one person that showed me any kindness, and I wanted to be like him."
By this point, both of your wrists have been freed, and while part of you wants to slug your friend, the story has caught your attention, and while you are still mad at him for doing this, you suspect you're about to find out why. He helps you sit up on the completely destroyed sheets, and hands you a beer from a mini-fridge in the corner you didn't notice under the random laundry tossed on top of it. You crack it open, and take a drink, as Jack keeps talking.
"He kinda suspected that I was curious about him, being as most people couldn't stand to be around him. He never had many visitors really, on account of not bothering to shower much. He worked at the mechanics shop down the road, and no one cared how the guy that can fix your car smelled, and he could let loose in the garage bay along with the other grease monkeys. Strangely they were the only ones that ever came around. After I was old enough, he even took me with him to work, and I started helping around the shop part time. I started to pick up all sorts of behaviors: farting freely, pissing when and where I felt like, drinking beer, even smoked a few cigars. It just felt good to be a part of something, ya know?"
You nod, and take another drink, mulling over this part of Jack you never knew about. "I didn't know you had such a rough life growing up."
"Aww it's all in the past. I lost my parents too young to really remember much, and thankfully I didn't end up in any of the really bad foster families. Jimmy, that's his name by the way, I will always think of him as my dad, as he raised me and made me what I am today."
"A gay obese slob who doesn't take no for an answer?" You smirk as you say it, and while Jack twitches, he laughs a little when he sees you're joking.
"yeah well sorry about that. But you see, Jimmy taught me some other things too. Like how to spot the slobs that are still in the closet about it. And eventually he taught me the "family secret". All the guys in the shop had been released from their ingrained inhibitions with this very same stuff I used on you, and none of them regret it. Why? Because deep down, they all know it's exactly what they wanted. Jimmy eventually "initiated" me, much like I'm doing to you right now, though I was a bit less repressed than you are, seeing as I was already half way there, my body just didn't match what I wanted. Same as you."
"What do you mean, same as me?"
"This is the part that's gonna make you really flip. That ointment? It doesn't give me any control over you. It just changes you to be the way you secretly want to be, assuming you are into slobbiness. I didn't do any of this to you, bud. You did."
Speechless, you just stare at Jack in confusion. I wanted all of this? This is what I wanted for myself? You shake your head in disbelief, but the more you think about it, the more you recall the thoughts you've had in the past, wondering what it would be like to be massively fat or really hairy. Hating having to put on a show to get a job, to have to dress up for church, annoyed that you'd be judged if you lost that 6-pack. How you were disgusted at how Jack lived, but at the same time, envied his freedom to be who he wanted to be...
Jack comes over and sits down next to you, your feet freed of the ropes. He has the ointment canister in his hand, and hands it to you.
"Go ahead. The last part is your mind. How you look at the world, and at yourself. No one can do this part for you, it won't work that way. But I think you already know on some level what will happen."
You finish the beer in your hand, and look down at the jar in your hand. Just a little bit left.
"What happens after?"
"Don't worry about that. We can get your stuff, move you in, close the door on the past. If you're not still mad at me, that is. I'd love to have you move in with me. I can even get you a job at the garage. They could use someone with your business skills in the office. They can't keep a competent business manager around for some reason. Can't imagine why..."
"Yeah, let me think on it for a bit."
"Sure, I'll be downstairs. Holler if ya need anything."
Jack heads off downstairs, pulling his briefs back on, but not bothering with anything else. After staring at the ointment for a few minutes, you put it down on the bed, and stand up, catching yourself on the far wall, stumbling as you try to get used to this new body. You manage to make your way over to the minifridge for another beer, and head to the bathroom, to take a look at yourself.
If you hadn't been awake for everything that happened, you would think you were hallucinating. You barely recognize yourself in the sweaty, shit covered, hairy superchub staring back at you from the mirror. There are a few other changes you didn't notice before that you can see now. One odd one, your moobs appear to be lactating a little. Apparently that fantasy has taken hold in your body too. You can now see the massive fatpad between your legs, and the deep hollow where you can only guess your dick resides now. Your navel is equally deep, and sticking your finger in it, you still can't reach the bottom. Your thighs rub together and you hear a splat as more shit falls from between your cheeks, just before a blast of flatulence lets loose. You waddle over to the toilet as your bladder releases too, getting maybe half of it in the bowl, the rest on yourself, as it pours from under your belly and over the fatpad encasing your dick.
Is this possible? Is this what I've wanted, and is it possible for me to live like this? You turn and sit on the toilet, and think for a few hours, before finally going downstairs to talk to Jack, having made your decision.