Arctos Monthly (Part 2)

Adjusting was…difficult. The smoking was the hardest–I’d never given much thought to something like that before, but if I went more than an hour without smoking a bowl of tobacco, my mouth would go dry and I’d start getting these jitters. I could sometimes get away with smoking in the dorm with the window open if Andy was out, but for the most part I was stuck outside on benches away from buildings–at least it was a warm April, if nothing else, but my mind was focused on wondering how long it would take Andy to get his package from Arctos…because I had to admit, I was itching for a fuck. Sure, there were a few gay guys on campus who were drooling over me, but I wasn’t really looking for the skinny college type–I needed a fucking bear. Unfortunately my age hadn’t changed at all, and I couldn’t very well get into a bar, and I was nervous about hooking up online. But once Andy got his first package, I had a feeling I wouldn’t have to worry about not getting enough sex soon enough.

It came about a week after I’d received mine. I was in the room working on some school work when he came in carrying a box the same size as mine had been, and my mouth went dry. It was so hard not giving away the game while he read the card out loud to me, laughing, and all I wanted to do was scream at him to put the damn clothes on! That was something I’d discovered too, with this new body–I think my behavior had shifted too. Just…a little but. Like I was more cocky? I took more risks, and I loved being in charge. It was hard to describe, because I was having a harder and harder time remembering that I’d been completely different just a week earlier. Still, I managed to play dumb, and he finally pulled the clothes out–some XXXL sleeveless shirts with the Arctos label, some huge jeans and overalls. Boots, socks, boxers and a set of suspenders. He ended up with cigars instead of a pipe, however. I’d been expecting him to get something like what I’d gotten, but it was an entirely different set–the clothes even smelled different than mine had: more musky, like a locker room.

Now I’d been pretty average size before my package, as best I could remember. Andy, however, was a big old beanpole. Probably six foot three and maybe 160 pounds–there was no way these clothes were going to fit him, and he didn’t even have any interest in trying them on…though something had him at least a little interested, as far as I could judge from the bulge growing in the front of his pants. I think he would have eventually tried them when I was out of the room, but I cajoled him into them, saying it was just for shits and giggles. He finally gave in, pulled on a pair of boxers, a shirt, the overalls because there was no way he could hold the jeans up, even with the suspenders on. He looked ridiculous, of course. The clothes were massive, but the overalls didn’t even reach his ankles, the legs were so short on him. He asked if this was enough…and I wondered why he wasn’t changing. Was it because I was there watching? I realized something was missing, unwrapped one of the cigars and told him to put it in his mouth too. He refused–he hated anything having to do with smoking…but I could see something in his eyes. The smell of the clothes was getting to him now–he wanted it, he just didn’t want to admit to me that he did, especially after all the complaining he’d been doing about the smell of my pipe smoke getting everywhere. So I gave him a push, and just stuck the cigar in his mouth anyway.

I had to pull my hand away immediately, as the end burst into flame, and an entirely different Andy was standing in front of me, looking confused and disoriented around himself at the room which was suddenly much…taller. He had, in an instant, shrunk down over a foot to a much shorter height of five foot two, the top of his head now not even reaching my bearded chin, and he’d exploded in size–and it sure as hell wasn’t muscle. When we weighed him in a bit later, using the scale in the bathroom, we found out he was now 385 pounds, but all I could think at the time was that he was…so fucking fat. He looked down at himself, confused, unable to take it in, panicking and sucking down smoke like he didn’t even know he needed it, and started ripping the clothes off of him–and I helped of course.

I hadn’t really…considered the fact that I might be attracted to bigger guys. Sure, more than a few of the chubby, bearish professors around campus had been catching my eye, but seeing Andy’s new rolls of flab covered with a thick coating of brown hair, his face and double chins covered by a bushy brown goatee, his hair grown out down past his shoulders–I had that cigar out of his mouth and my lips over his, sucking the smoke from his lungs so fast that he didn’t even know what was going on–but he needed me, and I wanted him bad. I threw him around and shoved him over the side of the bed, surprised at my own forcefulness, got down and started eating out his massive ass, and he was moaning and groaning, getting looser until I lined up my huge cock and slipped it right inside, like it had been made for me. Hell, maybe it had been, right? I knew he’d probably have questions, but he sure wasn’t saying no at the time, and I’m not sure I could have stopped myself even if the thought had crossed my mind. He…sure was pissed, though. He ruined the afterglow with his shouting and whining. He’s probably still is a bit pissed, probably, but he’s pretty happy with Mitch these days…heh. Mitch. Where do I even start with that fucker…

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