Duncan read the list a few times, mostly just disgusted and confused by what was on there. Hell, some of the things didn’t even make sense, or didn’t even seem possible! There were five items on the list:
- Stop going to the gym and work to get fatter instead.
- Start smoking cigars, and age an extra thirty years.
- No longer cut my hair, beard, or body hair, and grow it three times as fast, and three times as thick.
- Cum only on myself and my clothes as often as I can, get as many men to cum on me as I can, and never shower again.
- Replace my wardrobe with slobby clothes, and never wash them again.
He couldn’t control how fast he aged, or how thick his hair grew in–it had to just be some stupid prank someone was pulling on him. In any case, he had so much he had to get done today, and this stupid thing had wasted too much time. He skipped breakfast in his apartment–there was nothing that…would satisfy him here, went down and got in his car. Instead of going to the gym, like he thought he would, he wound up at a fast food place, went inside, ordered a massive amount of food–and ate all of it.
The whole time, he was trying to make himself stop…but he had to do it. He had to get fatter, right? That’s…what the list said. He didn’t understand where the compulsion was coming from, and eating the greasy food was disgusting to him, but he couldn’t get his body to stop, no matter how hard he tried. Once he finished, he again tried to get himself to drive to the gym, but instead he looked up the nearest smoke shop that sold cigars, went in and bought a pack, along with a lighter and a couple of ashtrays. He told himself to throw it out, but instead, he drove home, lit one, smoked it as best he could, and started stuffing his entire wardrobe into trashbags, and threw the whole thing into the dumpster. It took long enough that he finished the cigar–though it made him sick to his stomach and he nearly vomited, but he was…proud of himself, for finishing it. Proud of himself, for…for doing it, doing what he was supposed to do. Proud, and a bit…horny? Horny enough to sit down on the couch and rub out a load, which he onto his thigh, rubbing it in, feeling it get…tacky. He…wanted to shoot again, but he had more errands to run first.
He left the house again, this time going to the nearby thrift shop, and buying himself a new wardrobe–sweats and undershirts, some…used underwear, which disgusted him, and some mesh ahtletic shorts and beat up sneakers. Then he went home, lit another cigar, despite the fact he still felt sick from the first one, and he jacked off–spraying his load all over his flat belly, rubbing it in, and feeling the stubble growing there.
Duncan had always had quite a bit of body hair, and at his agency’s request, he kept himself shaved all over, and photoshop took care of the rest. Now though, he could see the first dark hairs coming back, much faster than they usually did…and there were so many of them! He went into the bathroom, and saw that the same thing was happening to his face, his stubble was so thick, and so obvious–he tried to shave it, but his hands just threw all of his shaving equipment right in the trash. Furious, he figured he could at least take a shower–but again, his body refused to even get in the tub. When he kept trying, his body ended up disassembling the entire shower fixture and throwing that away too.
And that was just the first day. He lost all of his modeling contracts in a week, and his agency dumped him by the end of January. He had some savings, but not nearly enough–he had, however, befriended the guys at the fast food joint where he went for most of his meals now…and while he held onto his dignity for a while, he eventually had to ask them for a job. He thought they would be disgusted by the idea–after all, he reeked like a cumrag and was so damn hairy now–but when he asked them they were eager to have him there…after all, it was handy having a cumrag around for them to use whenever they got horny. Even the owner of the place didn’t seem fazed by his hygiene, though he usually kept Duncan in the back, making fries and cleaning equipment, getting even filthier and greasier as the months wore on.
It was June when he realized, finally, how much he’d aged in just six months. He’d been 25 this year, but he’d already added another fifteen years or so, making him an even forty, according to his driver’s license, that was always accurate somehow. He was balding, his thick, already inch long beard was starting to grey, and his teeth were yellowed from the cigars he smoked almost constantly now when he was home, and always on his breaks at work. He got kicked out of his apartment for smoking and wrecking the place, and had to move in with one of his coworkers, another fat, horny slob like him, one who was more than happy to keep him around as a personal cumrag. More than once, he’d be woken up to his fat coworker looming over him, spraying his beard and hair with another massive load of cum, and Duncan, would just…thank him, and usually milk out another one of his own to go with it.
All he wanted was for 2019 to end, but he kept remembering the letter, and the party it had mentioned. He didn’t know what that might entail…but if it meant this nightmare could finally end, he’d be willing to do pretty much anything to get his body, and life, back to normal.
Of course, New Life Industries sent resolutions to more men than just Duncan. Who else got a letter from them this January?
Here’s a few options for possible targets by New Life industries. Some of these are more…revenge focused, while others are more about helping guys stuck in a rut become something…different. Also note, that there’s a space to write in your own ideas too! If I like them, I might include your suggestions in the upcoming polls to pick other victims of these New You Resolutions! Here’s the poll for Patrons (remember, your votes count for double in the Patron poll!) and the public poll is embedded below!
Bracken's Corner 