The former men gathered in a group in the middle of suburbia, gawking up at Clowngoggle's abode slash laboratory. You certainly couldn't miss it, it looked like a theme park attraction. While the others had already gone inside, the gym nuts were less than eager. The eccentric inventor had asked them to stay overnight so he could better study their situation, and hopefully get them back to the muscle-bound bodybuilders they knew and loved. Roger, the self-proclaimed leader of the ragtag youths, turned around and asked, "So what do you think? Should we stay? The sooner we get this sorted, the better, in my opinion." He'd already had to cancel his date tonight. Surely the others could have had the decency to cancel their own plans.
"Hey, I got nothing else planned today. Or the rest of the week, really." Aaron's voice cracked as he laughed off his predicament, it was tough being an actor these days. Maybe if he stayed, he could convince The Doc to let him stay young for just a little longer. As far as he was concerned, getting a second chance was good. He could persue a different career path, maybe something in big tech. Anything to avoid falling back to being a barista in-between gigs...
Gerald said, "Maybe I could swing by later, but I've got a few training sessions to coach this evening. I've already explained the situation to my clients, and I don't think they quite believe me. So that's going to be fun..." Normally he outsized his clients, he was the personification of their goals, their gymspiration. How would they take him seriously when even his voice was effeminate now. The Doc had better fix this before word got around.
"I've got the night shift tonight. And apparently, being turned into a pre-teen by Dr. C's dumb invention doesn't count as a sick day." Jackson pouted and crossed his arms. "I'm going to be a liability in that warehouse, but as long as I'm still breathing, it doesn't matter to them!" While he didn't like the situation he was in, the cogs began to turn in his mind. If he could stay a kid for a little longer, he could document their flagrant child labor violations. That'd really show those fuckers who was boss!
"Sucks to be you, brah!" Tyrone chuckled. "You should've lied! That's what I did, and i'm off scot-free." He pumped a fist in the air in celebration. No work, free food, and a sleepover. It really was just like being a kid again. he was pumped!
"My wife is expecting me to be home, and starting dinner. She's already sat down and explained it all to my son. She thinks it's a great opportunity to connect with him, now we're about the same age..." Peter shuddered at the thought, and rubbed his smooth cheeks out of instinct. He missed having a beard to toy with when stressed. "I just hope he still respects me after this."
"At least your family understands," Tony grumbled. "My wife's thinks this whole thing is hilarious. She's got a girls night out, and told our daughters their cousin will be babysitting them. Cousin! Just tell the truth, woman! They're four, they're not going to think it's out of the ordinary when they still believe in Santa!"
Roger tallied up the results, and sighed. "So that's three against four, huh? I don't think The Doc's going to be happy about that..."
--------------------
"Yes, yes. He's perfectly safe here. No, it really is no trouble at all! Lovely talking with you, goodbye!" Dr. Clowngoggles ended his call, and turned to the man with the bald head and horseshoe mustache. "Your parents are perfectly fine with you spending the night, Steve. They think it's wonderful that you've taken an interest in science, and want to volunteer your time to help an old fool like me."
"I think they misunderstood you, to be frank. But thanks, Doc." Steve growled. He stroked his grey 'stache with his thumb and forefinger, a crooked grin spread in-between. Now that things had settled down, and The Doc was mitigating his mistakes, he was beginning to see the bright side of things. Dr. Clowngoggles had acquired the phone numbers of every parent, and spent the past hour getting in touch with them to let them know the effects of his Yo-Yo Ray on their sons, and if they could stay at his lab overnight while he figured out how to get them back to normal. Unsurprisingly, they were cautious but accepting. Dr. Clowngoggles was a respected figure of the community, after all. If he said that he needed their co-operation, then they were more than happy to allow it.
While The Doc was busy with that, the former boys had had a chance to get better acquainted with their bodies, and Steve was no exception. Thanks to Clowngoggles' patented Age Verifier, which he was trying to petition to replace ID checks as the nationwide standard, he had come to learn he was now 57 years old. Not the oldest of the group, but fairly close. And he took it in his stride. He may not be the youngest, the tallest, the strongest, or even the most handsome of the lot. But for a man close to his sixties, he sure was in great shape. And the forest of silver chest hair was square to none. It didn't swamp him like most of the other guys, it was mostly contained to his chest and down his slightly curved stomach.
There were still a couple of naysayers, of course. Dan, for one, was still mouthing off about being middle-aged, and how his excessive body hair was irritating his skin as it rubbed against his clothes. Even now, he insisted on walking around without a shirt on, although you'd never know given the sweater of hair he possessed. Its density was astounding in its own way, with him proclaiming he was still too warm. The man had it lucky. Not only was he one of the youngest of the bunch at 45, but he still had the majority of his hairline. Not like himself, Steve thought with a rub of the scalp. But at least he was in good company as even the good Dr. Clowngoggles admitted his eccentric hair was, in fact, the most hyper-realistic toupée that he could invent, doubling as a nigh-invisible helmet. He hadn't yet cracked science's greatest mystery, but every day, he was getting closer to solving the epidemic of male pattern baldness.
The other naysayer also still had some remnant of his original hair, albeit severly thinning. Frank was fruitlessly messing with it, still trying to hide his bald spot like he wasn't surrounding by nude scalps. But he used to have the longest, thickest hair of them all before The Doc turned him into a 53 year old ex-cop. Not literally, none of them had jobs. But he certainly had the brick wall stature, as well as the eponymous cop-standard chevron mustache. Not to mention his jowls and solidly square jawline intensified his resting bitch face.
In fact, there appeared to be a sense of comraderie amongst the bald-headed men. As if their missing locks bonded them together in a way that ensured they had few qualms with their new forms. Steve was ambivalent to the change. He didn't want to stay an old man for too long, he was now a year older than both his grandpas after all. But it wasn't everyday you were turned into a hairy, brawny, strongman. He was going to enjoy his new size and maturity until the inevitable reversal. And Jet was in the same boat as him. Who could blame the guy, he was the oldest by a longshot. An almost elderly 64 years old. Even Dr. Clowngoggles was surprised, noting that they were the same age now. It wasn't the best of situations. His namesake black hair had either vanished from his scalp, or turned pure white across the rest of his body. To top it off, he had the largest beach ball sized muscle gut that somehow defied gravity, and a pair of muscle tits on top. None of it was enough to put a frown on Jet's craggy face, as he took it in his stride. Yes, he wanted to be young again. What old man wouldn't? But he wasn't about to complain that he was too big, too strong, too awesome.
Steve wasn't surprised to learn that both Nick and Brett wanted to stay as they were. The two of them were closer to bodybuilders compared to the rest of the gang. Nick had the bigger chest, a pair of globular pecs that would put even the bustiest woman to shame. While Brett had the flatter stomach, his abs just about visible if he sucked in. Nick also had that glorious salt & pepper beard that flowed down to his nipples, it could put any Greek god to shame. He bore a resemblance to Kratos, if he were copper-toned and covered neck to toe in curly, wiry hairs. Even his age of 48, which he noted with significant pleasure was only 5 years off of his grandpa's age, wasn't a deterrant. Meanwhile, Brett was the youngest of them all, a mere 42. He was also the tallest of them all, towering a mighty 6'4", made all the more intimidating by his impressive breadth. Before the Yo-Yo Ray, the two men were friendly rivals, eager to always one-up the other. And they'd only been emboldened by their changes. It had even led to them measuring up their cocks behind closed doors. Both were adamant that they were the one with the biggest package, though neither were brave enough to let the others judge for themselves.
Finally, there was the bearish man of the lot. Mike, the self-proclaimed human teddy bear, was possibly the fattest of the group. He had the muscle and brawn of a weightlifter, but his pecs were decidedly more saggy, his belly drooped over his waistband and poked out of his shirt. He was a fuzzy man, with a swathe of hair that grew uninterrupted from his stomach to his chest, up his shoudlers, and down his back. Yet its density didn't outbeat Dan in terms of hirstueness. He looked a little older than his 51 years of age, due in part to his prematurely greying beard, and white chest hair. However, he was perfectly happy with his resemblance to Santa Claus, due in part to being so soft and cuddly.
For now, the boys turned men were sitting around, waiting for The Doc to finish making his calls. Steve was sat with Frank and Mike, as well as Roger, Aaron, and Tyrone, three of the bodybuilders turned pre-teens. The unusual team looked more like a few kids hanging out with their grandpas, as they played a few rounds of Rummy with a pack of cards Mike had found atop one of Clowngoggle's patented hover-desks. Steve thought they'd be just as fantastical as the desk which could be moved anywhere effortlessly, but it appeared they were just an ordinary pack of cards. Either way, it passed the time.
Jet was on the other side of the lab, using Clowngoggle's patented Eyewear Adjuster to get himself a decent pair of spectacles. It seemed that his 20/20 vision had deteriorated with his old age to something more akin to 20/200, to the point that he needed to be hand-guided into the lab. Steve had also discovered his eyesight had gotten a little blurry when looking at things up-close. Moreso than usual. But he was too stubborn to admit it, even if it meant he was squinting at his playing cards, and holding them out at a distance to see them properly. What use were a pair of reading glasses when he was likely going to be a kid again fairly soon.
Dan was laying on a sofa, his arms crossed underneath his head. He was still shirtless, his extremely hairy torso on full display. He had disregarded Dr. Clowngoggles patented 3D Clothes Printer, which scanned your body and created an outfit that perfectly fit your body. Albeit, it wasn't powerful enough to print more than one colour at a time. And Dan wasn't the only one. Brett and Nick were also going shirt-free, all the better to show off those glorious, hair drenched muscles. They were now competing over who had the smoother head, rubbing their fingers over the other's scalp to feel where they still had hair follicles cut down to an almost imperceptable stubble. It seemed that despite Brett's younger age, he'd completely lost any hair on top of his scalp, left only with the trim around the sides. Whereas Nick still had a whole plateau to lose before he could declare himself fully bald. The two of them cheered upon the decision, though it was unclear who won. The man who had the most remaining hair, or the man who had lost it all. Either way, they were grappling with each other in a very non-platonic fashion. "Jeez, get a room, lads!" Tyrone called from across the room.
With one last call finished, Dr. Clowngoggles clapped his hands and addressed the other men. "Brett, your mother said you were more than welcome to stay the night. But if you didn't want to stay, she would also love to have a good, strong man to help move some things around the house."
The younger man with the grey-tipped beard broke free of Nick's grip with a grin, and flexed a boulder-like arm. "Maybe in the morning, if you still haven't fixed us, Doc."
"Yes, yes. With any luck, my yo-yo mechanism will kick back in, and you'll be fresh-faced youths come morning light. But until then, I'm glad to say that your parents have all given permission for this unusual slumber party. While a few have also said you are welcome to head home, it would greatly benefit everyone if you stick together. No wandering off to gracious knows where under the guise of manhood. While physically, you are men. Mentally, you are still boys."
"What about the other guys you turned into kids? What are they doing?"
"The same applies to those former meatheads," Dr. Clowngoggles responded quite sharp. "However, despite their juvenile appearances, they are still independent men. They have the pressures of work, and their own families to care for. I've offered them the sanctity of the lab while I tinker some more, but alas, I have little control over them. I just have to pray that they don't wander far. Not without leaving me with some contact details this time around..."
"In my opinion, the sooner you figure this out, the sooner I can get back home and pretend this was all some kind of lucid dream," Dan growled aloud. "So quit stalling and get tinkering, Doc!"
Dr. Clowngoggle side-eyed the brute on the sofa, and said, "I don't appreciate your tone, young man. Nevertheless, you are quite right. I shall leave you boys to it. I hope my patented Sleepover in a Box is sufficient enough. Farewell!" And with a jaunty wave, Dr. Clowngoggles left the room to go and work in his smaller, more secluded workshop.
Steve thought he was too old to be going to slumber parties when he was 12 years old, let alone now he was a bonafide, over the hill, muscle daddy. Maybe it would be fun to spend the night in a laboratory. It was definitely going to be an interesting evening regardless of the location when you're spending it in the company of several middle-aged weightlifters who used to be pre-teens.