The apartment wasn’t much—just a split-level two-bedroom with thrift-store furniture, one cracked bathroom mirror, and a perpetually humming fridge—but it was home enough.
Neither Trisha or Joshua had been transformed by the Fusion Wave. Joshua had moved into Trisha's flat some six months ago to be able to better commute to his new job in the city, and since then, the two of them had become fast friends.
Trisha padded barefoot into the living room, sipping from a mug that read “Hotter Than Your Ex” - the description was true. Though she was in her late forties, she had a youthful glow about her still rather attractive features. She blinked as she spotted her 22-year-old tenant sunk into the couch with his laptop open and his mouth slightly ajar.
“What the fuck are you reading?” she said bluntly.
Joshua nearly threw the laptop. He slapped it shut and scrambled to sit upright. “Jesus, Trish—fuck—knock next time!”
“This is the living room.” She arched an eyebrow, sipping again. “You moaning over your anime wife is not a private activity.”
“I wasn’t moaning—”
“Uh-huh.” She grinned, flopping onto the armchair across from him. “So, what was it? Milf simulators? Tentacle shit? Oh wait—don’t tell me—was it one of those age swap things?”
Joshua looked cornered. His eyes flicked to the side. “Maybe.”
Trisha barked out a laugh. “Oh my god, it was! That is so—ew. Why the hell are people into that stuff?”
“I wasn’t into it!” he shot back. “My friends dared me to check it out. They said it was a classic or whatever. I was like, ‘Sure, I’ll suffer for the group chat.’”
Trisha squinted. “Mhm. That’s weak, man. Real weak. Don’t act like I didn’t see you scrolling back through the sex scene.”
“Okay, hold on.” Joshua leaned forward. “You really wanna go there? Miss ‘I keep my browser history in incognito like a goddamn serial killer’? You’ve got a bookmarked folder called ‘Fleshweavers Vol. 2.’ I saw it when your tab popped open last week.”
Trisha’s face went still for a second before her eyes nervously darted away, her cheeks flushed. “...That was for my work.”
“Really now?”
“None of your business!”
They glared at each other for a few seconds—before both cracking grins and settling back.
“So,” Joshua said, stretching, “seriously though. Why is that a thing? Age swap? Age regression, progression, whatever the hell. People really get off to turning into little kids or old dudes?”
“No clue,” Trisha said, shaking her head. “It’s not hot. It's weird. Like, are people just into power dynamics? Nostalgia?”
Joshua rubbed his eyes and groaned. "No freaking idea . . ."
“I swear, if I see one more ‘mom turns into her teenage daughter’s twin’ story, I’m gonna light my laptop on fire.”
Trisha clasped her hands and adjusted her straps.
“Right? Or those ones where some dude turns into his own granddaughter. Like, what the fuck is wrong with people?”
Joshua's back and neck stiffened, and he stretched it unconsciously. Maybe he had slept in the wrong position again.
“Exactly! It’s like... regression kinks were already weird, but now with the Fusion Wave? People are justifying it.”
Trisha stretched her arms behind her back, yawning as her spine popped. But something felt…off. Her sleeves suddenly drooped around her wrists. The elastic waistband of her shorts, once comfortably snug, had begun to slide lower on her hips.
“I mean, yeah, mutations make anything possible now, but still—why do people want it?”
Joshua's lower back suddenly stiffened, but he ignored it - this conversation was too engrossing.
“I don’t get it. Feeling young is one thing. But becoming young? That’s just... creepy. Especially with how old some of those characters are . . .”
She paused, blinking. Her skin itched.
“And don’t even get me started on the ‘reverse puberty’ stuff. I read a summary once and had to bleach my brain.”
The memory of that degenerate, borderline incest erotica story he had stumbled upon scathed Joshua's mind once again - distracting him from the growing heat that was creeping through his body.
“Ugh, same! And they always host it on that cursed-ass site—C.Y.O.C. What is that even supposed to stand for?”
She couldn't feel it yet as she continued to take shots at the horrid fetish, but Trisha's belly fat was disappearing by the second.
“‘Create Your Own Change,’ I think. Which just sounds like a euphemism for ‘pick your fetish and ruin your dignity.’”
Joshua's chest hair grew longer.
“Honestly. It’s like a digital freak show. I saw one story where a kid turns into his own dad’s new wife.”
The thought was nauseating, but so was the strange heat that creeped into Trisha's stomach and head with every heartbeat.
“God. You’re making my spine itch.”
That was the sensation of rapidly growing hair.
“I’m not even sure if I’m disgusted or just confused.”
Trisha would be both in under three minutes.
“Probably both. And low-key disturbed.”
So would Joshua.
“Yeah. Though... I guess if both people consented... and if they weren’t, like, actually kids—”
“Don’t start justifying it. That’s how it begins. One scroll down C.Y.O.C. and you’re knee-deep in an age-regression gangbang.”
“Okay, ew.”
“You brought it up.”
Trisha rolled her neck. Her bra strap suddenly bit into her shoulder. “Ugh. My boobs feel tight as hell.”
Joshua blinked rapidly. His voice dropped an octave. “Shit, my knees are killing me. I swear I’ve aged five years since this convo started.”
Trisha looked at him. Her eyes narrowed. “Wait a second…”
He looked back—and paused. Her skin looked smoother. Tighter. Youthful in a bouncy way. Her hair had grown an extra inch, darker, shinier. Her cheekbones had lifted, lips fuller, eyes brighter.
“Uh…” he started.
Then Trisha’s mouth fell open. “Holy shit, you look like my fucking uncle.”
Joshua had grown facial hair—grizzled stubble peppered with gray. His chest had puffed out beneath his T-shirt, which strained at the shoulders and sleeves. His neck had thickened.
Joshua blinked. “You look...smaller.”
Trisha frowned. “Do not call me small.” She stood abruptly, her legs wobbling for a second—her center of gravity had shifted. Her hips had narrowed slightly, but her thighs looked tighter, firmer. Her skin, once bearing the faintest signs of adult life—stress lines at her eyes, subtle stretch marks at her sides—was now completely smooth.
The faint creases around her mouth had vanished. Her jawline was a little softer, lips fuller, cheeks rounder.
Joshua stared as her face lost years by the second. Her eyes looked larger, brighter. Even the slight crinkle of crow’s feet that had emerged when she smiled during late-night wine rants? Gone.
Trisha’s hair grew thicker. Her posture straightened with a strange bounce of energy, like her joints had shed ten years of wear. Her feet were now just barely peeking out of the hem of her sweatpants—she had lost a couple inches of height, no more than that, but it felt dramatic.
“Jesus Christ,” Joshua muttered.
He stumbled forward. His knees cracked loudly.
“Ow. Shit—my back...”
He gripped the edge of the coffee table, letting out a strained grunt.
His spine arched upward, like something was stretching him taller from the inside out. The waistband of his jeans dug into his stomach as a slight paunch formed above his belt.
Trisha blinked up at him. “Are you...taller?”
His shirt no longer fit right. The sleeves stopped halfway down his thickening arms. Hair began to spread across the backs of his forearms—light at first, then darker, coarser.
Gray sprouted along his sideburns, his jawline roughening with stubble that hadn't been there five seconds ago. The once-boyish angle of his chin deepened, growing more angular. He now looked like a man who paid taxes and complained about knees - and taxes.
His hands thickened, veins rising, fingers slightly gnarled, as if aged from years of lifting heavy things. His calves swelled beneath his pants as his legs lengthened, adding bulk and presence.
Joshua blinked, brow furrowing under new lines as he held his hands to his face, eyes wide, stumbling backwards. “What the hell is happening to us?”
Trisha was too busy cupping her own face, fingertips tracing freshly youthful skin, as she whispered, “I look like I’m twenty again... maybe younger.”
She glanced at Joshua—and blinked. “You look like you should be barbecuing in New Balance sneakers.”
Joshua looked down at himself, borderline panicking as his now gravelly voice spoke. “I . . . I feel like I should be yelling at kids to . . . mow the damn lawn?”
“What the hell is happening—”
As if answering the question, both of them grunted at the same time.
Trisha doubled over. Her hips popped wider against her sweatpants, which were now visibly struggling to contain her thighs and swelling rear. Her chest inflated in slow pulses—one, two, three.
A third breast swelled perfectly between the first two, the nipple pronounced and already visible under the fabric. “What the fuck—what the fuck—”
Her bra ruptured with a snap, and Trisha yelped.
Then she screamed. Something warm and heavy slithered down between her thighs.
Joshua’s jaw dropped. “Is it—”
“YES, IT IS! Fu-Fucking hell, i-it's as long as a TV Remote!”
Meanwhile, Joshua groaned as his shirt tore at the seams. His biceps bulged unnaturally. Then two bulges formed under his ribs and burst into full-grown arms, veined and strong.
“WHAT THE FUCK,” he yelled, stumbling backwards.
Hair sprouted rapidly along his chest and forearms. His hands stretched, nails hardening. His ears elongated subtly, and his canines sharpened. He staggered toward the kitchen table for balance, panting.
“Why do I feel like I want to howl?!” he bellowed.
Finally, it was over.
They both froze—then threw their hands to their heads as they began to realize the both of them had suffered rather strong delayed transformations. They had begun to scream, when a soft, wet squelch interrupted them.
They turned.
Sitting cross-legged on the far side of the room was Jennie.
They had forgotten she’d come over that morning. After all, the succubus mutant was the one who had dared Joshua to read the age transformation erotica in the first place.
Jennie blinked slowly. Her head, perched on the end of a long neck, rose out of her groin from between her thick thighs. Her short black horns curved back behind her head. The glistening blush that spread across her deep orange-red cheeks was dark enough to stand out against her skin tone.
A rigid, dripping phallus throbbed proudly from between her shoulders, bouncing lightly with her breath, it's piercings glistening in the light. Her tongue hung lazily out of her mouth, drooling into her lap.
“Oh my god,” Trisha whispered. “Jennie—how long were you there?”
Jennie didn't respond right away. Her heavy breasts—each with nipples nearly as long as a pinky finger—quivered with each pant as they stuck out clearly from her strained tank top.
“Jennie?” Joshua said, louder.
Her mouth twitched. Her voice was dreamy as she tittered. “I . . . I finally get it…”
They stared.
Jennie giggled softly as she coyly covered her mouth and squinted her eyes. “I finally get why people like those age progression stories…”
Her cock pulsed as she spoke.
The room went completely silent—except for the tick tick tick of the wall clock, Jennie’s hot breaths, and the faint drip of Trisha’s new anatomy onto the floor.
Joshua sighed, then yawned. “...I need a fucking drink. And a nap, I'm tired.”
Trisha groaned. “I need new underwear. And new tops, dammit.”
Jennie just moaned into the blanket.