Just Recently Subscribed To This Man's Patreon And You Should Too! It's Totally Worth!

Just recently subscribed to this man's patreon and you should too! it's totally worth!

That first story alone is f i r e !!

First story up on Patreon

Do you like transformations where unsure young lads blossom into confident, hulking, well-dressed men? Well have I got the story for you!

CLOTHES MAKE THE MAN is now on Patreon, where it will live for the time being. It's 24 hot and heavy pages, and you can be among the first to read them for as little as three bucks.

Oh, you'd like a synopsis? Sure! "Dylan wanders into a menswear store in search of a makeover, and the salesman turns out to be extremely good at his job..."

And here's a little tease:

“I know you’re thinking you want a smaller chest, but it’s actually just the opposite,” Bernhardt said into Dylan’s ear. “You want a bigger chest. That’s what will look the best on you.”

“Really?” Dylan said unsurely, feeling bits of his flesh squeezing through Bernhardt’s fingers. “I’m not...I don’t know. I don’t want boobs like a girl.”

“That’s why you want them bigger. When they’re bigger than any woman’s, nobody will compare the two.” Bernhardt’s fingers were being forced further apart. Dylan’s shirt began to tighten at the base of his chest.

“But...that’s big...if they’re bigger than any girl’s…”

“But isn’t that what you want? The biggest, manliest chest possible.”

Dylan’s legs buckled. His eyes rolled back. “Yes, I...I do want a manly chest, as long as it doesn’t look like a girl’s-”

“We’ll take care of that. For now, just focus on your chest growing. Can you feel it?”

The Aardchive

All the stories posted on this blog, in alphabetical order by title.

111,121

The Aairport: Alex & Eric Connor Absolute Power

The Bear Cap: Keaton Dakota Backseat Grandpa

The Board: 1, 2 A Body Built The Broadcast Built Himself Up Campus Visit The Car Lot: Copped The Chief The Clifton Jocks Deeper Double D The Evolution of Corbin Brantley Jason Love Klutz La Petite Mort Made Man Major Mayor A Matter of Time Meat Market: 1, 2, 3, 4 M-U-S-C-L-E Name Recognition

New York Fucking City: New York Fucking City New York Fitness City Greenpoint

Old Dog, New Tricks

The Photo Booth: Chuck Dustin Eric George Liam Mikey Recruiting Ethan Repair Costs Reset Room Sweep Standing Together Stuffed Shirt Style Scout Tattoo* Under New Management Wet

Wishing Room: Morning Wood Beefing Up Security Hot for Teacher The Dance

Big ramy little shirt

The Bear Cap: Jonathan

This is dedicated to my friend @amysticbearperson​! He also convinced me to get on Twitter. Give me a follow, friends?

To support my writing, please buy me a protein shake on Ko-fi. My muscles will thank you.

Jonathan didn’t even want to go to the dinner in the first place. His parents kept telling him that the Hills’ son Tyshawn would be there, and that was why he needed to go, so that he and Tyshawn could catch up - plus, the Hills wanted to see how Jonathan had grown up.

Jonathan remembered the Hills - they’d lived next door when he was really little - and he’d played with Tyshawn a few times in the backyard, but that was the extent of their relationship. He knew it would be like most boring dinners with adults, talking about work and the stock market or whatever. And the Hills had gotten reservations at Charme, the fanciest restaurant in town, which excited Jonathan’s parents, but not Jonathan. He wasn’t a food guy by a long shot, and Charme was the kind of place that didn’t even have a menu - or at least not one you ordered off of. Whatever you were served, you ate, and Jonathan wasn’t yet old enough to have the option of washing it all down with wine. He’d asked his dad if Charme would have cheeseburgers or anything a picky eater would like, and his dad had laughed. Not a great sign.

“You need to dress nice,” Jonathan was told, and his first choice of a polo and jeans was vetoed as not formal enough. Charme required jackets. So, grumbling, he went back to his closet to cobble together an outfit from whatever stuff he hadn’t outgrown over high school. He’d never attempted to organize it, which resulted in a mishmash of clothes he liked, clothes he hated, clothes that didn’t fit, and clothes he didn’t even recognize. The black cap - found buried under a pile of forgotten sweatshirts and jeans - belonged in the latter group. It had the word “BEAR” on the front in tall white letters, which probably stood for some dumb anti-drug thing at school. He plopped the hat on his head while he continued rummaging for acceptable clothes. Most of the clothes were chucked into piles deep enough for Jonathan to bury his entire arm in, so the search became a game, as Jonathan tried to guess what forgotten item of clothing he’d produce from the heaps next.

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Jantee Shaaban

The Romans, and the Greeks

Words by Aardvark and AgingTime

Twitter | Support Aardvark | Support AgingTime

It wasn’t that the trip to the art museum was entirely boring. There was some really cool stuff in here, Roman and Max agreed. They were super into the room that had the sculptures that looked like balloon animals. The issue was that seeing all the interesting stuff took roughly fifteen minutes, which left them five hours to kill.

“Five…hours…” Roman grumbled dramatically, dragging his feet behind him like he was on invisible crutches. “I’m not gonna make it, man. Tell…tell Livi…I always thought she was hot as hell.”

“Man, I would, but I’m definitely gonna die of boredom too,” Max replied. “At least there’s food right?”

“I guess. Mmm yum, museum food,” Roman snorted. He pushed the mushroom fringe of his bangs out to the side even though he was fully aware it would flop right back over his eyes, which it did. “When do we have to meet the group? Like 40, 45 minutes from now?”

“Yeah, for the tour.”

“I can’t believe they’re letting us run wild here. Someone’s gonna break something.”

Max looked witheringly at Roman, who was grinning from ear to ear. “You mean YOU’RE going to try to break something.”

“I never try, it’s not my fault that I’m clumsy.” It was a running joke at school that Roman’s hands and feet didn’t match the rest of his body, at least not yet. He and Max were the same average height, yet Roman’s feet were four sizes bigger, and he tripped over them constantly.

Roman and Max were best buddies. Equals. Instead of a leader/follower dynamic, they were competitors; willful young men who didn’t take anything seriously except for their own opinions. They’d been friends since middle school, after a knockdown, dragout fight over a loose basketball, quite counterproductive since they were on the same team. But they both thought it was hilarious, and after that, they were almost always together, picking the same classes and ensuring they had the same lunchtime.

Their first jaunt was through a textiles exhibition, which they thought might be cool because it could be about texting, like some kind of digital art. It turned out textiles were fabrics, which was intensely uninteresting. “It’s…rugs,” Roman deadpanned, looking around the room. “Rugs and blankets. Dope.”

“Dude, you know who’d like this stuff? My mom,” Max said, which was the most damning assessment possible, and made them both laugh until a massive security guard glared at them. That was their cue to go, and as they headed out of the exhibition, Max’s phone vibrated. “Miller says he’s hiding out in some movie room. I think I’ll pass.”

“Nah, if I watch something I will definitely fall asleep, and then you’d both leave me there and I’d wake up seven hours later, and the museum would be closed, and I’d never be able to leave and that would be my life.”

“That makes complete sense, you’re exactly right,” Max said. “Hey look, Greek stuff.”

“I prefer Roman stuff.”

“God, shut UP,” Max groaned, giving Roman a shove that roused a “Hey!” from another huge guard nearby.

“Ah man, we gotta go in here,” Roman said, pointing to an exhibit entrance framed by multicolor stripes painted elegantly on the walls. “Rainbow Rebellion: Queer Coding Throughout the Ages,” he read out loud before turning serious. “I think this will be really good for you, to see the art of your people.”

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