The men at the 8th Street Gym were surprised to see the stranger waddling through the doors. Far from the typical clientele, this man was ruddy, rotund, and wide. He wasn't exactly dressed for the gym either. The stranger wore a red blazer and dress pants, a white dress shirt that hugged the planetary sphere of his enormous belly, a bowtie and a top hat.
Russel snickered and ribbed his pal Joe, "Jesus, Joey, get a load of the Penguin here."
"Guy looks the ringmaster of a three-ring circus."
The portly stranger rubbed his double-chin and lingered by the side of the weight room. He seemed to be taking in everything. Everyone.
"What a total creep," Russel said. "I think he's checking out all the guys. Fatty better watch himself." At 6'3", Russ was was built like a tank. He had a fine pelt of bearish hair. He was a decent enough guy, but everyone knew not to get on his bad side. The longer the fat man lingered at the edge of the room, the more he got on Russel's nerves.
Daniel, the manager approached the man. "Sir, we encourage appropriate gym attire. Perhaps shorts and a t-shirt are in order."
The bloated man rubbed his belly and pinched his pencil thin mustache. He spoke in a booming baritone for all to hear. "Many thanks for the recommendations, my good fellow! I'm merely . . . perusing the facilities and enjoying my trial membership. I like to get a sense of place and character before committing to a purchase." At that, the fat man trained his eyes directly on Russel, smiled, and winked.
Russel saw red. He set down the barbell, took one step toward the stranger, and Joe halted him. He whispered. "Hey Russ. No need to make a scene. If this guy's a problem, Danny will throw him out."
The stranger floated like a balloon, room to room, and Russ lost track of him, until about an hour later, at the end of his workout. He hit the showers, toweled off, and was getting read to change in the locker room, when he glanced up to see the portly stranger in the top hat and blazer, looming by the exit, smirking, beady eyes gleaming with predatory delight.
"Hey Monopoly Man!" Russel shouted. "I've have enough of you mincing around this place, oogling the guys like meat. This is your only warning. Leave now, or I will pound you into a cheeseburger."
All conversation in the gym ceased. Every guy turned to watch the confrontation. The sound of running showers echoed between them.
The fat stranger chuckled and rubbed his bloated belly. "No need for violence, my friend. I believe I've seen everything that I need to see."
"Then leave!"
The fat man chuckled like Santa Claus. "Well naturally, I'm going to leave. But I have a delightful idea. Why don't some of you come with me!"
Russel balled up his fists and loomed large and naked. "I'm not playing games here, tubby. Get out, or I'll pound your pudgy cheeks until they're purple and blue."
"I don't believe you're going to do that." The man reached inside his red blazer.
For a moment, Russel tensed up. Could he be reaching for a weapon? A gun?
But he relaxed when the stranger instead produced a long, neon green and yellow object. A child's slide whistle. "Maybe you should listen to my special noise."
Russel scoffed. "That's it. You're a dead man." He strode forward, muscles tensed. The other men cheered him on.
The stranger put the slide whistle between his lips, pulled on the level, and blew. A long, sustained note slowly descended in pitch.
Everyone's cheers turned to gasps and confusion as Russel stormed toward the stranger. As the slide-whistle's note descended. Russel slowly began to change. His muscles deflated. His body hair thinned away. His height began to drop. He was transforming from a well-built 30-something man, into a leaner, younger man, a college kid. He began to falter. He stopped and began to notice the changes. "Hey, what the heck is happening to me? I feel strange . . ."
Russel grew leaner and leaner, and in an instant, his manhood went from flaccid to fully erect. He reached down. Tried to hide his arousal, blushed with embarrassment. He looked to be about 18 years old now.
The stranger took a break from his slide-whistle, and commented. "I'm sorry, young man. What is it that you said you were going to do to me."
"You're doing this!" Russel shouted, his voice higher, crisper. "Cut it out!" He stalked forward with renewed anger, but instantly, the stranger began to play his whistle again, sliding the tone down, down down.
As Russel strode forward, he dropped dramatically in height. His chest hair vanished. His stiff member shrank, but remained fully erect. He became leaner and leaner, smoother and smaller, dwindling from 16 to 15 to 14 years old. He gripped the man's jacket in what appeared to be a threatening gesture, but as he shrank into a 13, 12 year old boy it only looked desperate as his boyish face now craned up into the pudgy face of the stranger. "Hey cmon! What's happening to me!"
The note continued to descend, and Russel fell to his knees as she shrank into a nude little boy, no more than 10 years old. His head rested against the crotch of the man, who at last stopped playing his whistle. He ruffled Russel's light brown hair and erupted in hearty laughter. "Not so tough anymore is he?"
All the other men stood frozen in fear and confusion. Russel swelled with strange feelings of fear, helplessness, and a new found affection for the big man before him. He couldn't explain why, but suddenly, now that the spell was complete, he felt a powerful authority emenating from the man. His fancy suit. His top hat. His sheer size. It all made him seem unquestionably in charge of everything that was happening.
"Now you're just a little boy," the stranger stooped down and patted Russel's cheek. "An obedient, helpless little boy. Aren't you?"
Russel silently nodded. He stared at his hands, examined his puny body in abject humiliation.
"But the good news, little boy, is that I've come to make you an offer. You see your friend was right. I AM the Ringmaster of the Circus. And I've come to town to recruit help. We need little boys to sweep up, pass out flyers, perform odd jobs, run the games. And you feel it inside you now, don't you. You want nothing more than to run away with the circus and obey the Ringmaster, don't you, little boy?"
Russel's heart swelled with excitement and he nodded enthusiastically.
"Good boy!" The Ringmaster stood and shouted out in his booming baritone. "And by now, all of you are under my spell too. Not a one of you can resist this feeling, this desire to run away with the circus. You see I've come to this down of working-class single men because your kind makes the best low-level grunts. And once you're reduced to obedient children, you'll all work for peanuts." His Big Top laughter boomed. All the men could feel his power vibrating through their bones now, but they all stood frozen and helpless.
The Ringmaster blew on his slide whistle once more, and instantly every man in the locker room became hopelessly aroused. The Ringmaster boasted, "My spell of mass reversal has begun. Soon you'll all partner up with a buddy and explore each other's bodies as you grow younger and younger."