Conflicting states of mind battle for control of your mind as you look at yourself in the mirror: you’re confused, aroused, frightened, angry and filled with pride all at the same time.
Leather jacket looks really good against your beefy body. You’re a musclebear, but not the gym perfect 5% body fat kind. Indeed, you look like you enjoy beer and good food as well as working out. Finally pride and arousal win out, you’re glad that the bear changed you, you like this new body and want to see how good it will feel in bed next to the bear from the bowling alley.
You hear a knock at your front door, you call out, “Who is it?” in a voice deeper than you remember but there is no answer.
You head for the door and realize you’re not wearing anything except the leather jacket, quickly you reach for a towel and it just barely fits around you, but you’ll have to hold it shut when you answer the door.
You get to the door and open it only to discover there’s no one there. You look around and see no one on the street. However, on the doorstep there’s a pile of neatly folded clothes and some well worn engineer’s boots and a box of cigars.
There’s a note attached that reads: “John, I don’t suppose anything you have will fit you anymore, so here are some of my things you can have. I haven’t washed them since I wore them last night, but judging by how much you liked my scent, I don’t think you’ll mind wearing my dirty gear. See you tonight at the alley.” It’s signed, Big Paws.
You pick up the clothes and shut the door thinking to yourself, “Well, if he thinks he can just expect me to wear his dirty gear…” but the thought drifts away as the scent coming from the cloth interrupts your tirade. You press your nose against the fabric of the shirt and inhale deeply, your cock twinges, you grab the black jock strap and breath in its musky scent and you feel dizzy. You are overcome by an almost feverish urge to get into the clothes. Hurriedly, you pull on the black jock strap that obviously has several loads deposited in it, pressing it tightly against your newly enhanced cock. You’re tempted to rub one out in the jock, adding to its heady aroma, but you still want to get fully dressed in Big Paw’s gear. You pull on the well worn grease stained jeans, the very aromatic socks and boots. You’re sweating profusely as you remove the jacket, pull on the black tank top and then don the leather jacket again. The clothes are damp with your sweat and you are fully erect. You look at yourself in the hall mirror and are extremely turned on. You could swear that you were Big Paw’s cousin or something and you wonder if that cigar and his DNA contribution from the night before might have caused this alteration to near ‘familial’ appearance.
Thinking about the cigars, you remember the box. You open it and the smell beckons, urging you to smoke one. Almost automatically, you put one in your mouth and light it up, you look in the mirror and are filled with pride at what you see; your arousal MUST be addressed now. You take your cigar to the living-room, kick back in your leather recliner and begin rubbing your crotch through Big Paw’s jeans. You want to make a bit wet sticky mess in the jock. You want the front of your jeans to be ripe with the scent of your seed. You close your eyes, puffing away on the cigar, rubbing, grunting deeply as you pleasure yourself. Within minutes you shoot your load, roaring in orgasm, soaking the Big Paw’s black jock and wetting the front of your pants with your seed. You must have shot five or six times, panting, breathing in the cigar smoke you begin to get drowsy. You don’t want to nod off with a cigar in your hand, but looking at it, it seems it’s only got two or three drags left on it. You smoke it down to the nub then stub it out on a small ornamental ceramic plate on the coffee table in front of you.
You yawn, and check your watch. Its afternoon now, you can’t believe you smoked that big cigar so fast, or that the time has flown so quickly. It was just morning when the knock came at the door. Where did the time go?
You’re tired; you lay back in the recliner thinking about meeting Big Paws tonight. You drift off.
When you wake its dark out; you check your watch and its quarter after six and you know you should be at the alley soon.
Not bothering to look yourself over, you grab a couple more cigars, stuff them in your jacket pocket grab the keys from the hook by the door and rush out to the car, locking the door behind you as you go. You drive off to the bowling alley.
Looking at yourself in the mirror on the way there, you notice your beard is thicker than before, and higher on your cheeks. For some reason, this doesn’t surprise nor bother you.
You arrive at the alley and look around.
Over, by the bar having a beer and a cigar sits Big Paws. You need answers, you need to know why this has happened, but most importantly, you need him!
You approach and he greets you, “John! You’re looking” he stops and sniffs the air, “and smelling good! Sit and I’ll get you a beer.”