The Power Of A Name

The Power of a Name

With @next-pharaoh

The power of a name is something more influential than most people realize. It created an individual, maintained their identity that had been crafted from the womb up until that very point. It interacted with the world around them, choosing their friends, their enemies, their brothers and their lovers. Names decide brains or brawns, cools or fools, the ins and the outs of every living thing. If it was not for names, then who would we even be?

So imagine the power of a name when it is used for the good of a movement, one that has been silently expanding for hundreds of years. While other cultures were fighting wars and attempting to outscore one another, this particular movement stealthily expanded its ranks. Lineage and ancestry can be traced back through countless generations of the male line thanks to this work. Of course, we are speaking of Arabization.

There are obvious reasons as to why this movement is so strong and only has the potential to further dominate. First and most importantly, the Arab-Islamic culture exemplifies masculine ideals, creating stronger men after every new breed. Higher testosterone levels, unbreakable fraternal bonds, governing genetic codes. Their desert-bound history created more aggressive, competitive, and territorial behavior; their strict religious conviction maintain higher levels of confidence and, by right, superiority.

But if this movement is silent, then how are we able to visualize its effects? Consider the following facts: While numbers in almost all historically-dominant religions are dropping, the current Muslim population is predicted to grow more than twice in size by 2060. Islam, and the core values of Arabization along with it, will surpass Christianity as the largest religion in the world in just 25 years.

Reflecting on a local level will help illustrate these details. The branch of mathematics most widely practiced, taught, and respected is algebra, a rhetoric developed into what we use today by Muslim scholars. Arabic speakers have increased by 276% since 1910, with English speakers at 221%, Hindi speakers by 118%, and Mandarin Chinese speakers only by 96% over the same period. The Arabic name Muhammad has risen to become the top-reported baby name in the entire world when all its spellings are counted together, with Amir, Malik, Nasir, and Xavier following close behind.

With all this in mind, how has the Arabization movement utilized the power of a name? How about we make this more personal. Consider the average man, 25 years old, 5’9, and weighs roughly 197 pounds. He is flabby and balding, already considered past his prime at such a young age. Works a meaningless job, lives a meaningless life. His pale skin is a reflection of the blank resume representing his past, present, and future. All this, until a guiding Arab brother calls him by the wrong name.

“Omar!” Omar? But that was not his name. “Omar!” He hears it again, this time from a local. Eventually it seems to resonate with the people around him. At first, this average man was puzzled, but the constant repetition of the name gradually begins to rub softer, washing over his body and smoothing out his ridges. Every "Omar" scrubbed off a piece of his past, better aligning him with a brighter, browner future. 

It could start somewhere as vulnerable as porn, the average man filtering through and discarding any videos that do not feature the Arab male. Perhaps his playlists begin to reformat with Arab music, its rhythms and verses constantly playing to further seep into his brain. This restructuring can appear in the home too with a space decorated by Arab imagery, and like a vine it delicately extends further inwards and invades the average man’s very place of rest.

Soon, his interactions with the world around him begin to change. A new Arabic word slips into his everyday language, his connections and role models shift to solely Islamic men, his clothing habits adapt to his beckoning lifestyle. Generic becomes expensive, branded athleisure wear, business becomes religious attire. Each time that new name is uttered, the “Omar” inside inches a little further out.

Eventually, that “Omar” has extended far enough that the results become visibly present. The average man grows taller, broader, his fat stretched against a burgeoning muscular glory. Arms bloat thicker, legs bulge wider. His skin bronzes into a shade of brown that can only be defined as perfection, his hair blackens and thickens across his entire body. The jaw stretches, the nose inflates, the brows and lips protrude. And so too does the average man’s package, its sole purpose to breed future Arabs with its potent seed.

And once "Omar" passes the point of resonation and reaches familiarity, the average man will vanish. The power of a name, his name, Omar, means “long-living, flourishing” in Arabic, his language. And he represents it. An alpha male, an Arab male, a purebred Muslim who understands his mission. So now, Omar takes out his phone and texts a complete stranger, another average man, and simply addresses him as "Ahmed". And the cycle begins once more, the power of a name exploited for the greater good of Arabization.

Hey! :) First of Welcome in the community :D From what I've seen you really are a good writter and yoru concepts are super cool :D Can't wait to ee what you'll come up with in the coming days! I was wondering if you could help me. See, I've bought a new phone. At least I thought it was new. At the first start, there was still folders in it, images and most of all plenty of gifs in the pictures folder. What's even weirder is that most of them are gay gif. I really don't understand why they are here. What's even weirder, as i got my phone out to write this message, i got zapped with electricity and since, my fingers are bruning and I feel light headed. What is happening!?

Oh no, that sounds pretty serious bro. I've been hearing about these charms can transport people inside their favorite porn scenes. Usually people do it willingly, so for you to receive a phone planted with that curse must have been intentional... Luckily there's a way-out !

Listen carefully because judging by your progressing symptoms, you only have a few seconds left before you're sent inside the scene you saw. There's a magic phrase you need to say that acts as a sort of safeword. The magic phrase is "get this fag out". Just say that out loud and you'll be transported back out of the porn. Got it ? Alright, good lu-

I didn't even have time to finish what i said before you got violently lunged through time and space. You felt your body slam down with an unfamiliar amount of heft on top of a cold hard surface. You barely even had time to open your eyes and adjust them to the new light level before you felt your body being rammed from behind by the powerful thrusts of a man penetrating your ass. A spasm of pleasure through your entire body forced a low moan to escape your mouth. Before you had time to understand what was happening, the loop started over. And over. And over.

You were stuck in a gif. The repeating cycle you were in allowed you to fully register every aspect of your current situation in the most intimate details.

You were clearly getting fucked against a counter. Your arms lay in front of you, supporting you so that the momentum of each thrust didn't send you flying forward. Looking at your arm, you noticed right away that you were in a body that wasn't your own. First of all, you were white with a fairly hairy forearm. You could tell by the way your body bounced with each pound you received that your body had a lot more bulk to it than you were used to. You were clearly in the body of some white jock pornstar.

The man fucking you held you firmly with his large hand on your shoulder. You couldn't even look behind you to see what he looked like. All you managed to assess was that he was powerful, likely muscular, and dominant, judging by how he was manhandling you. And of course, you could tell that he was very well endowed.

His massive dick slammed inside your ass. The constant onslaught on your sensitive prostate was making you see stars. The perpetual throbbing and pumping of your love button felt better than anything you had ever done before. Your dick was rock hard between your legs, leaking a constant stream of precum.

You uncontrollably moaned like a complete buttslut. The sensation you felt was that of absolute bliss. This felt amazing ... you could just ... stay like this .....

WAIT !

You snapped out of it right as your mind was slipping. You didn't ask to be there. You had to use the safeword to get out quick ! You opened your mouth to say the words.

"Get this fag AAAaaaaaaah !"

"Get fa- UHHHHHH !!!"

"Fag ouuuuuuuuuh !"

The gif you were in was 2 seconds long which should have been plenty enough time to pronounce the words that would save you from this delicious prison. But no matter how hard or how many times you tried, you could only get out only half of the phrase before a loud moan forcibly cut you off, cutting your available time in half.

You tried as hard as possible to reckon with your predicament and try to find an escape, but the constant and profound state of arousal you were in made it hard to think logically.

With each cycle, it's like you could feel your brain cells frying one by one. Each pound gradually degraded your cognitive abilities. You had to resist .... But it felt so good to just give in .... It was like you were getting drunk on dick, you were on a perpetual high that you never wanted to come down from. And just like that, you stopped resisting entirely.

An overload of literally mind blowing pleasure nullified every other aspect of your soul. Your eyes rolled up. Your jaw slacked. You had gotten your brains fucked out at last. You were now just a braindead cumslut who's only purpose in life was taking dick.

In the real world, i picked up the phone from where you had dropped it on the ground. Looking at the screen, i could see the gif you were now permanently stuck in. With that look of blissed out ecstasy plastered on your face, you looked like the perfect mindless cock slut. You were so contant, so happy to just be a dicked down fag for the entire world to witness. I guess i should have sent you this gift sooner.

Yep, i was the one who sent your the cursed phone. Not that you care about that stuff anymore anyway. You're now trapped in pure, mindless and eternal bliss, your dick-crazed broken mind unable to compute anything other than the intense pleasure of being a hungry buttslut forever.

In lieu of getting this fag out, you ended up just ... fagging out.

Small update

Alright bros, small announcement here. After posting my new stories, the tumblr algorithm kinda decided to go crazy on me and locked a bunch of my stories as well as flagging my account as explicit.

I modified the stories so that they could show up for yall, mainly by putting the more spicy content behind links, so don't forget to click on them to get the full experience ! This kinda sucks because i had a very specific idea of how my stories should look, but hey, gotta adapt !

I'm pretty new to all this so i'll try to do what i can. I'm very open to suggestions for how to deal with the limits posed by the tumblr guidelines if you have any !

And finally, more hot stories coming soon 😈

Hello good sir. I am a tall, lanky but athletic university nerd who is just starting his masters. However, uni was pretty draining, and over the summer I came to the conclusion that I want to switch things up. I would love to become a buff, bulky hog, and not think about uni for a while. With thick legs, thick arms and especially thicccc pecs.

Another request for the God of Pigs? Bro, of course, I'm happy to help any dude who's ready to be a real man!

Now, let me get a look at you. Tall, lanky, hmm, not even a little body hair? Damn, you really need some help. I lean towards you and let out a huge, rumbling burp. I see you wince, and a mist of saliva and sweat rains down over your body. Don't worry bro, it'll kick in any second now.

POP There we go! 6'5 wasn't the right height for you bro, so you feel your bones shift and crunch down to a stockier, shorter frame. Your shoulders widen, and your muscles and gut start to inflate outwards. A thick wave of hair creeps up around your body, coating your with a coat of wiry, sweaty fur.

Bro, you're perfect! I think I'll keep you - you did say you wanted some time away from uni, right?

I snap my fingers, and a lump forms in your throat. It's your new Adam's apple, thickening and widening. Something rumbles in your stomach, and you open your mouth to ask a question. But, instead of words...

BURRRRRPPPPPPP

You open your mouth again, and out comes another huge burp. They're don't stop, replacing your ability to speak. You feel the insides of your neck start to twist, and your burps become more and more... animalistic? Less like burps, more like grunts, getting lower and lower. I thought, since you won't be doing much talking nowadays, I there's no need for you to be doing much thinking, either? So much for a masters degree lol. What's that bro? I don't know what you're trying to say

Your brain starts to feel fuzzy, all slow and mushy and warm. Soon, you stop thinking in words, just food and sex and masturbation rushing through your mind. You imagine stuffing your face into a plate of food, no, a trough, and stroking yourself the whole time. And, as you burp away the last remnants of your intelligence, you suddenly realise what you sound like: a pig

Oink oink

Screen Froze

Podcasting had become inescapable in recent years. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on...well everything. Politics, world sports, cooking, an obscure movie from 1978 only released in a now-extinct language. If it could be covered, it would be. And one could find this content anywhere across the internet. Youtube, social media, even streaming services promoted their podcasters. Everyone was watching everyone talking. 

Of course, with so many different podcasters flying about, it was difficult to actually spot out talent. And from a sociologically micro perspective, it was even harder for individuals to find podcasters discussing the content they actually wanted to hear about. The more unique the niche, the less people one could happen upon to be talking about it during their recorded stream of consciousness. It was a simple formula, but it forced individuals to browse for hours or even days to find what they were searching for.

Sometimes though, people could not hold such patience. They would not wait for their new hero, a disciple preaching their values and morals to audiences around the globe. They would skip past one livestream discussing the economics of green villages in Switzerland to the next debating the potential existence between a minor character in two separate fandom universes. They could even perhaps land into a podcast like Sean’s.

“Most people just don’t understand the Soviet Union’s impact on architecture,” the measly, pale nerd innocently commented. A little shy in front of the camera, he was only able to relax a bit when discussing his favorite topics. Sean dressed in theme too, wearing a brutalist-like business casual outfit, a trait his small but dedicated fanbase adored.

“There were a lot of architects that really shaped this movement from all around the world,” Sean continued. “But today, we are just going to focus on those from the USSR.”

So what happened when one’s patience dried up? Well, everything was brought to a halt.

DragonHeart49: anyone else’s screen freeze? superduperloverboy: mine too <3bitsandmore: sean, I think ur glitching out

With the screen frozen, our impatient soul could now get to work. If one could not find the podcast they were looking for, then why not just create their own? Obviously, this did not mean constructing a podcast themselves, but rather alter the fabric of reality and completely realign another’s being to their preferred state. That was much easier.

Physical modifications were made first. A much larger body was necessary, something that demanded confidence and respect from others. Juicy pecs, rippling abs, sturdy legs. There was always something unreasonably fun in bloating the podcaster’s feet up a few sizes. An imposing frame to be craved by others, even when hidden underneath clothes, was priority. And speaking of clothes, those were quickly stripped down to less formal articles. Expensive branded tee, athletic shorts so small that boxer-briefs were visible, classic white Nike socks, all of it much more respectable than a button-up and tie.

This was not the impatient soul’s first time altering a podcaster to their liking, nor would it be their last. Physically at least, each of the end products were a little different. All alpha males, but just enough variation to not warrant any unnecessary rumors. This particular podcaster had his pre-American heritage redirected from France to India, the features in the screenshot tanning accordingly as a dark stubble acquainted itself along the sharper jawline. Of course, the bulge was accurately enlarged for geographical standards too.

Mentally however, all the podcasters could be considered copies. They each spoke of the same rhetoric, theories, and ideologies that our impatient soul wanted to hear. No matter how “backwards” or “hateful” their discussions were deemed as, nearly anything could be said by hulking bodies with undeniable charisma.

“These homos have no idea what they’re talking about!” Sanjay raged as the podcast restarted, his deep voice cocky and assertive. "Sure bro, I was just thinkin’ about a girl’s rack I saw earlier today but there's more to a girl than big tits. There's a tight pussy too!”

The chat section lit off with encouragement, their fates too having been altered.

MassiveFART69: you tell them fags bro! LOL XD crassmassschlongnator: we want to BREED THEM TOO!!!! <3TITSGALORE: JUST TALKIN ABOUT IT ALREADY GOT SANJAY GRABBIN HIMSELF AGAIN

Sanjay vacantly looked down, finding himself already subconsciously scratching at the thick bush within his shorts. He let out a hot protein fart followed by a laugh, his scratching slowly extending into groping his fat 8 inch babymaker.

“God, that was WET bros!” Sanjay applauded himself, his free massive hand swallowing the mic. “Anyway, I’ll catch you on the flip side dudes, gotta go hit the gym. Bros for life!”

There was a reason the traditional masculine movement was becoming stronger. Maybe it was because men were slowly aspiring to become the alphas’ equals, or because fags were beginning to submit to their nature. Or possibly, it could have been because each time a screen froze, reality was altered one click closer to traditional, normal masculinity.

Commission - Cut Above the Rest

Another commission from a few months ago. Thank you to the anonymous user who commissioned it!

This story came out early on my Patreon! If you're interested in early stories and other benefits check it out here! Interested in commissioning me? Check out this post for more information on rules and pricing.

~~~

“Thanks, yeah that’s great!” William said with a smile and a nod of thanks before he left the latest barber shop in his string of failures.

He was lying through his teeth and he knew it, but William was too polite to say otherwise whenever he went to get a haircut. The same practised appreciation for something half the time he didn’t really like, as close as it was to what he originally asked for. He’d never known how he truly wanted it styled, just went along with whatever the thousandth hairdresser he was trying suggested. Nothing worked though. 

So here he was a month later on yet another attempt to find a place he liked, wandering around the city searching for a place he hadn’t tried yet, which was a challenge in itself. He’d been to every popular place, every barbers and hairdressers, every little hole in the wall and random person that thought they could give him a cut he was finally happy with. It was a big city, so William was lucky in that regard with how many new places seemed to be opening up all over sometimes. Today was another one of those days where a friend of a friend of a friend had been to somewhere new and he was on the hunt for it. 

Roughly half an hour after he’d left home, William finally set eyes on it. A smart looking place  with a sign in the window claiming to be newly opened. From what William could see it looked like a middle-eastern, Turkish style barbers, of which he’d been to several similar places before. Though, the closer he got to the front of the place the more he realised this didn’t look like any other barber’s shop he’d been to. On one side you had the usual chairs, mirrors and hair cutting equipment, on the other though it was entirely different. Wall to wall gym equipment, enough to make it look like a home gym or small public one. It was perhaps the most unique looking place William had ever seen to get his haircut, and he'd been to a lot of places in his 26 years alive. 

“Suppose you've got to market to a new audience somehow with all the competition around…” William mumbled to himself as he approached the door.

A small bell above the door jingled when William entered. He couldn't see anyone hovering around the main section to greet him and ask what he wanted like usual, so he glanced over to the small area with gym equipment. The only guy in the section, who was currently lifting what looked to be a heavy bar, met his gaze a moment later and smiled.

"Gimme one sec and I'll be with you bro!" The guy said before he turned his attention back to lifting.

That guy was the barber? William could hardly believe it. He’d expected someone more average. Maybe an old dude with a belly, not some tattooed middle-eastern jock. Though, he supposed this guy wasn’t all that young looking from what he could see. There was the odd sign of age on his still fit body, little hints that gave away that he was definitely older than William. He supposed it made sense for that type of man to be someone that comes up with the half gym half barbers shop idea; he knew the type of jock that loved to live in the gym, now this dude could work full time cutting hair and get a workout in whenever he wanted.

William stood awkwardly to one side next to the door whilst he waited for the guy to finish up. Luckily it only took a few minutes before he set the bar back down on the rack and sat up, then gave William another smile. Much to his relief, William watched the guy wipe off a little sweat with a spare towel he had laying around, then slid on a grey tank top before he pushed to his feet. He was at least professional enough to be fully clothed, which was more than William was able to say for one or two of the people he’d given a go at getting the haircut correct. 

“Sorry about that man, didn’t think I’d get anyone in this early!” The handsome hunk said when he finally stopped in front of William and extended a hand. “Hassan, nice to meet you.”

Out of sheer politeness William tried not to wrinkle his nose at the smHaving just worked out, Hassan smelt like any other sweaty jock, which wasn’t the most pleasant of experiences for him. He wasn’t the most confident type though, so instead he shook the offered hand and bit back any slightly more unkind opinions however true they may be.

“Nice to meet you Hassan, I’m William.” He held in his grimace at the sweaty palm when they shook. “It’s almost midday though, why didn’t you expect anyone?” He enquired, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Hassan shrugged as he pulled his hand back. “Only been open a couple of days, so I hadn’t expected word to spread enough yet. Had a couple dudes I was already friends with my first day open, one new guy yesterday afternoon, now you. So thanks I guess, you being here means I gotta be doing something right!” 

As much as Hassan did smell like a sweaty bro that hadn’t showered in a week, there was something almost infectiously friendly about him. A magnetic energy that had William relaxing around the man already, despite only having just met. 

“Anyway, what can I do for you man? Need of a trim I assume?” Hassan walked around behind the desk near the door and grabbed a bottle of water, then took a swig from it. “You’re in good shape already, probably doesn’t need much doing by the looks of it.”

William sighed. “That’s exactly the problem I guess.” He didn’t know why he felt like gushing about the problem to this guy over anyone else, but William could barely stop the words from falling out of his mouth. “I’ve never really known how I want it cut. A thousand different people have tried a thousand different cuts, yet nothing has ever quite looked right. Never been able to put my finger on it, but I’ve just never been satisfied.”

Hassan had a knowing smile on his face, which seemed out of place to William. “I think I know what your problem is, Will, it's obvious really.” Hassan spoke with such confidence in his assessment William didn’t really know what to think. “Obvious to me at least. You wanna know what I think?”

William nodded. He wasn’t expecting an actual answer, but at this point he’d try anything this guy thought was a fix. 

“I don’t think it’s the hair that’s the problem, it’s the rest of you. You don’t feel at home in your skin, so it’s only natural you can’t find a haircut that makes you happy. You’re trying to match it to the wrong body.” Hassan stepped to the side and gestured at one of the chairs behind him. “Take a seat and I’ll show you what I mean.”

William blinked. He wasn’t sure he’d quite heard things right. “Sorry, what? You think I don’t feel at home in my skin, what the hell does that mean??”

Hassan shrugged as if it was barely a question that had to be asked. “I mean exactly what I said. We’ll get you a new skin tone, maybe some muscle too whilst I’m here, then see what we can do about your hair.”

“But… But that’s not…” William stuttered out, his brain still trying to catch up with the seriousness Hassan was putting forward.

Hassan’s face bristled with a slight irritation, but it didn’t seem to be directed at William. It was more of a general irritation at the situation, though it didn’t last long. As he walked back towards William and the intense musky smell grew again the irritation eased off, replaced with a look William didn’t recognise. Or, one he didn’t want to recognise anyway. Arousal. Clear as anything behind Hassan’s eyes, an arousal that had William terrified and horny at the same time. 

The intense smell wasn’t helping anything either. It’d disgusted William at first, but the more it wafted off the stud the more he found himself enjoying it. He felt safe here, safe with Hassan calling the shots. So what if changing skin sounded ridiculous and impossible, wasn’t he just thinking he’d try anything to finally be rid of this irritation? He could at least let the gorgeous older man try, it’s not like there would be any harm. He was safe with Hassan, he reminded himself, it’s not like the guy he’d known since childhood would do anything bad to him.

William shook his head. No, that wasn’t right. He’d only just met Hassan, he hadn’t known him since childhood! But then… How did he even know about this place? Why was he so used to the slightly arousing smell of his best friend if they hadn’t known each other for so long? And, why was he letting Hassan get so close if he wasn’t already comfortable around him?

“You okay there Will? Come on, let me help you out, yeah?” Hassan said when he stopped less than a foot away from William. Right up in his personal space, but then William could remember Hassan always being like that around him… Couldn’t he?

Will nodded. “Yeah, yeah I’m okay. Sorry, don’t know what came over me for a second there.” He shook his head and blinked a couple times, then smiled up at Hassan. “Let’s get me in that chair, if you really think this new skin tone stuff you’re saying will help then I guess I trust you.”

Hassan smiled as he guided Will over to the chair he’d indicated before, making sure he stayed close. The hypnotising effects of his smell would only hold as long as he was near, at least until he could do the rest of his work. This guy was exactly what he’d been hoping for when he opened this place, though he hadn’t expected to find it fast enough. Someone lost enough to make it easy for him to mould, someone clearly desperate enough that they’d accept whatever help was given with the right push. As soon as he’d worked the magic in through his scent William would be locked in as whoever Hassan sculpted him into; he was far more than a simple barber after all. 

With a flourish he draped a sheet around Will’s neck and secured it to protect his clothes from any falling hair. In reality it was much more to disguise the changes to his body until it was too late, but it was part of the convenient lie that had made him choose this profession. Most of the time he just made little adjustments to people before they left, but occasionally, when the right person came along, he could afford larger ones without having to exert any extra effort. He’d already embedded a history of friendship without even having to think, so he already knew he’d be able to go the extra mile here. 

He grabbed a pair of scissors, then took his position behind the chair and smiled at William in the mirror. “Just sit back and relax okay? I know you’re not really sure about all this, but have I ever done you wrong in the past?” William shook his head after a brief frown of confusion. “Exactly. So trust me when I say you might be sceptical, but this will fix any hir worries you have forever okay?”

With the final words of reassurance offered, and his subtle check his influence was still working, Hassan started his work on the cut. It wasn’t just hir he was cutting away as his scissors glided through blond strands though, it was everything. The sweaty smell from his recent workout enveloped the room, and with it Hassan cut away everything weighing William down. All the anxieties, all the stress, all the baggage he was carrying around from everyday life that led him to obsess so intensely over something as simple as a haircut gone with a few chops. His attachment to his identity as a white man was next to go. The easy, unspoken sense of privilege vanished into nothing as more hair fell away, hair that was already leaving behind dark black on Will’s head instead of the blond which carried his previous heritage with it. A couple more chops later and William was a blank slate ready for inscribing. 

All the while Hassan worked, William was totally oblivious to anything besides the haircut going on with him. Hassan’s stench took care of that, working to invade his senses and further relax him. He loved the way Hassan smelled all ripe and masculine all the time, it was why he’d suggested combining a gym and barber’s to him in the first place. It didn’t matter if that memory was a new one he didn’t have before, now the delicious musk of the man working above him had pushed the idea into his head it was there to stay. He was unaware of his hair darkening with each cut, unaware too of his beard doing the same when Hassan moved around to tidy that up. The fact that his beard actually got longer and thicker when the handsome barber went to work down there was the smallest little detail he couldn’t care for, not when Hassan was hunched over with the most adorable look of concentration on his face and his armpits only inches away from William’s face. 

“How’re you feeling Zaid? Good?” Hassan asked, once again giving William a soft, friendly smile from his position in front of him. “Not too long until I’m done Zaid, just got to put the finishing touches on.”

What was left of William’s mind pushed through the fog. Hassan had just called him Zaid, but that wasn’t even close to his name. But, then there was the unwavering confidence in the way he’d addressed him, as if there was no doubt in his mind that William was actually called Zaid instead. 

Just when the doubt was about to push back, Hassan raised his arm and leaned over. He held onto the back of the chair and pressed William’s face directly into his sweaty pit, letting the smell drive itself up to another level. Any notion of disagreement faded away as William was forced to take a deep inhale directly from the source. He wasn’t William, there was no way someone like him would have a white man's name when he wasn’t white. That’s what the smell whispered to him on repeat with each breath in. He wasn’t William. He wasn’t white. He wasn’t average. 

The only question his mind was capable of pushing back as he breathed in the intense smell was a simple one; if I’m not those things, then who am I? And the answer was far more simple and obvious, he didn’t even need to wait for a response from the smell.

He was Zaid. He was middle-eastern. He was ripped and gorgeous.

Most importantly of all, Zaid was just as much of a sweaty, gym obsessed bro as his lover was. He and Hassan loved to work up a good sweat from a workout then fuck whilst inhaling each other’s smell. Often when work was slow too, right in the middle of the gym half of the shop where anyone could walk by and see the two hunky Arabs going at it. The icing on the cake was that neither man showered all the frequently Zaid was now remembering. There hadn’t been room in the shop to install one when they’d bought it, and the one they had at home wasn’t the best quality either. So, to both men’s delight, they spent more than half the time smelling ripe and masculine.

Zaid looked up to see Hassan once again behind him, now pulling off the sheet that’d been wrapped around him. He undid the back then tugged it away to reveal the sweaty tank and shorts Zaid always loved to wear, all barely covering the massive tanned muscle of his body. For a split second he’d been confused when he saw himself, but the strange idea that he should be pale and small soon vanished as fast as it had set in. He’d been working out for years, there was no way he’d be small! And it wasn’t like he was one of those pasty white guys that thought they ruled the world, he was far more enlightened than that.

“I’m good H.” Zaid said with a reassuring smile up at Hassan. “Thanks for the trim though, felt like I was getting a little too long there.”

Hassan chuckled slightly whilst he swept away the last traces of blond hair from the floor that would give away what he’d done. “You know I’m always happy to help you Zaid, what are husbands for if not that?”

Zaid stood up, then captured Hassan’s lips in a short, sweet kiss. “I know, I know. But aren’t I allowed to be thankful for my amazing husband?”

“You are.” Hassan’s gaze turned mischievous as he set the broom aside and walked the short distance to the front door. He locked it and flipped the open sign hanging there around to the other side, then returned his mischievous gaze to Zaid. “But I’d prefer you show your thanks by fucking my ass personally. That William guy we had booked in cancelled, so we’ve got enough time free for a little fun, don’t you think?”

The mention of his former self was the last unspoken test Hassan had for Zaid. Massive changes like this one didn’t always hold steady, so one last push of that button was an important one. If Zaid didn’t flinch then he’d know he managed to pull it off, if he did flinch then Hassan would know he’d been too ambitious. Minor cosmetic changes to tidy up and perfect someone’s appearance was usually all he did as he was cutting, so such a large change as to change not only Zaid’s race, but his muscle and his memories too had been ambitious from the moment he sat down in the chair. The guy had just been so receptive to it though that he’d kept gambling and pushing things further; the hair colour became a radical change to make him an Arab, then adding the massive muscle on top of it all when he would never usually go as far as changing ethnicity.

“Then fuck that dude, he doesn’t know about the killer trim you’d give him before I set him up with a workout plan.” Zaid said, full of confidence and total ignorance to who William was. Had been. “We’ll get plenty of others through here and you know it, and we’ll help them walk out hotter people!”

Hassan let out an internal sigh of relief. It had worked after all. “You’re right, there’s going to be a lot more people walking through our door.” His eyes flicked back to the same door he’d just locked, then back at Zaid. “Right after you’ve bent me over the nearest workout bench and fucked me so we can unlock that door that is.”

Zaid stalked towards his husband and smirked. “Say no more H, say no more…” He whispered as he grabbed Hassan’s ass with two meaty hands and started to walk them backwards. 

One of these days Hassan knew he’d confess all this to his new husband, but today was not that day. Today was the day they fucked on every flat surface possible, confessions could wait.