As you are sitting on the couch, munching down pizza and guzzling beer, you notice a pile of clean clothes on the floor. You figure they must be Jack's; he is naked, and they're the only clothes here.
You turn to Jack, and, drawing back one of your heavy, hairy arms, punch him in the stomach. He wheezes, and roars at you.
'What the hell was that for?!'
'Put your damn clothes on, boy, I can't sit here next to a naked dude, it looks completely queer.'
You reach down and pick up the pile, tossing it at him. He glares at you, but grumpily consents. First he takes the clean underwear; they look tiny in his big hands. He pulls them up over his legs, with a lot of difficulty, but can't seem to stretch them past his huge cock.
'Damnit, you can't do anything by yourself can you' you growl.
You reach over, and roughly pull the underwear up. As you do so, his cock deflates, shrinking and thinning, until it is a measly six-inch pencil on top of two tiny balls. The underwear fits him snugly, now.
You feel angry and hot, and wriggle uncomfortably in your pants. You undo one of your buttons, and cup your balls, feeling them swell, becoming huge, hard, round tangerines. You look down your pants and see your modest dick swell; you feel like you're getting hard, but your dick remains limp, stretching and growing into a thick, fat monster cock.
You scratch your head, finding that suddenly you can't remember anything from your lessons in college. Jack is looking at you, slightly scared, as you are much taller than him.
You grab his clean, ironed t-shirt - nothing you'd be caught dead wearing - and pull it roughly over his body. At first it is terribly tight, and he moans painfully, but then his muscle and fat melts away, and the t-shirt hangs a little too large on his wiry, nerdy frame. You make a low rumble as your belly swells and grows, pulling tight on your huge sweaty shirt, and your arms balloon out and down, becoming long, ape-like and muscular.
You feel more of your knowledge slip away; you are struggling to remember even high-school stuff as your IQ drops further. Jack rolls his eyes at you.
'I hardly need assistance dressing myself, you big buffoon.'
You leer at him.
'Just put yer' fucking pants on, kid.'
You grab the smooth, clean jeans and pull them up over his legs, his muscle and hair pulling away with them. You ignore the feeling of your legs thickening and growing hairier, and barely notice as more of your memories slip away; but now you are recalling newer ones, of playing sports and slamming drinks at bars, fucking around.
As you hold Jack's legs roughly, pulling on his socks, his skin dries and cleans, becoming smooth and moisturized, as yours gets harder, hairier and rougher, and you start to stink even worse. His eyes sparkle with intelligence as you feel your brain cloud and grow dull, becoming aggressive and dumb.
Finally, he pushes you away with a groan.
'I'll apply the rest of my garments myself, thank you very much. You're such an ape, Jack.'
You push him roughly as he pulls on his sneakers.
'Just cos' yer some highbrow student while some of us are pullin' a real job, kid. Now shut it and watch the match.'
You sit back on your couch and turn to your T.V., your massive bulk dwarfing your friend, who is daydreaming about something or other.
You focus on the game, wondering why he even came to visit your house if he didn't like sports.
You wonder what it'd be like to be a clean, thin guy like him. Guess you'll never know.