Wishing Jar, The

The Beginning


By Clarence591

I wrote this story some time ago and never put it on the site because it's not your typical MGS. It's not really a body-switch story either. I guess it's just a muscular love story, which made me think about this holiday. After doing a little editing, I thought maybe I could get away with downloading the story on this special day.

So to all of you MGS purist, I apologize. To all you muscle romantics, Happy Valentine's Day. Enjoy!

A soft breeze from the harbor made the sheers at the bedroom window dance gracefully. Their lethargic movement emulated the mood of the unusually warm February afternoon. An overture played only in Ian’s mind as he watched the billowing ballet. Ian always heard music; he called it his life’s soundtrack. He laid on top of his neatly made bed with his head hanging over the edge. The soundtrack stopped momentarily as a sudden gust caused his father’s wind chimes to play. The wind chimes were in the garden below Ian’s window. His father loved that garden, spending every weekend weeding and pruning the small walled-in Eden. Ian gave the wind chimes to his dad as a Father’s Day gift when he was eight. He made his mother buy the chimes because they were much larger than ordinary wind chimes, the largest in the store display. Ian told his mother since they were the biggest they had to be the “daddy” chimes. He wanted his daddy to have the daddy chimes. The long metal tubes made a deep, almost mournful sound. The tone seemed so appropriate now. Listening to the chimes, Ian thought he saw the image of his father forming in the swirling curtains. He had been seeing him in the strangest places lately. A smile formed on Ian’s lips. How he missed him.

“I’m leaving for my church meeting now. I should be home by seven.” Ian’s mother walked into his room putting on her modest hat and white gloves looking every bit the proper Southern lady. “You sure you don’t want to come sugar, Reverend Leeds would be delighted to see you.”

Ian shook his head no, “I have school work”.

“Yes, I can see how busy you are. Have you worked on your book today?” Ian just gave an annoyed look. “Sorry, I guess I’ll never understand the creative process of a genius. But the next time your editor calls you can explain it to him”. She bent down and kissed her son on the forehead before she turned to leave. “Dinner’s in the slow cooker. Make sure you eat. You’re too thin”.

“Bye, mom” Ian shouted as his mother disappeared from view. Ian did have school work, but it was just a simple charcoal still life. He could easily create one of those in 5 minutes and still get high praise from the professor. He could have gone to the meeting, but he found his mother’s church friends a little too Stepford for his liking. Ian sat up and scanned the room for something to sketch. Everything was so ordinary. He bounced off the bed to search the rest of the house for an item of interest.

He leisurely roamed from room to room humming to himself. He enjoyed the feeling the house evoked deep within him. This was truly his home, his haven. Whenever he crossed the threshold instantly he was enveloped by warmth and safety. In the den, he stared at the photos of his father scattered on the mantle. He studied his handsome features trying to permanently scorch the image into his brain. He never wanted to forget his father’s face. He was so energetic and strong, with an ever present smile. Everyone told Ian he looked just like him, but Ian didn’t see it. He left the den to continue his search. He surveyed the entire house without finding inspiration. The closest thing was an old top hat from the hall closet. He remembered his father wore it whenever he did his magic act for the neighborhood kids. Ian was so amazed when he pulled a quarter from someone’s ear or made the chosen card rise from the deck.

The smell of dinner drew Ian into the kitchen. He stood at the kitchen counter, wearing his find, carefully selecting the vegetables he liked out of the Brunswick stew. The phone rang; Ian saw from the caller ID it was his editor. Ian let the machine answer the call. After plunging a piece of buttered bread into the pot, he replaced the lid and headed upstairs.

Ian was a child prodigy. He started writing stories when he was six years old. By the time he graduated from high school he had several short stories published in regional literary magazines. In his freshman year of college he had his first book published. It was a children’s book, he not only wrote the story but did the illustrations. The book sold well enough to spawn a sequel. In the first semester of his sophomore year, he wrote a short story about a man who only felt safe when he was under water titled, Under the Quiet Surface. His professor said it was one of the best stories he had ever come across. The professor read it aloud to the class. Ian cringed in his seat when he got to the part where the main character was described. The sensual language seemed more erotic when read aloud. Ian was sure every would know whom the character was based by the detailed portrayal. The professor encouraged Ian to submit the story to his friend who worked at Vanity Fair magazine. Ian acquiesced to his teacher’s pressure. The magazine bought it. The story was then read by a major publishing house, which optioned it for a novel. For the last 3 months, Ian had been working on expanding the story. But he was suffering from writer’s block. The story needed a love scene, not having any experience in that department, Ian was lost for words. He could write a generic love scene to explain the physical act, but was unsure of the emotions involved. He knew he was behind schedule and didn’t need to be reminded by his mother or editor.

Ian was still humming as he walked down the hall to his bedroom, but the tune had a more serious tone. He felt something graze his new head wear. It was the rope to the attic’s flying staircase. “I’m bound to find something up there worth my while”, Ian said out loud. He pulled the rope and unfolded the wooden steps. Dust particles scattered in the warm air spewing out of the black hole. Ian ascended into the darkness feeling for the string of the spaces only light source; once located he pulled it to illuminate the room. The attic held few items; several plastic containers marked holiday decorations, a cardboard box of old record albums and a large trunk. Ian opened the trunk and found it almost filled with his father’s clothing. He gingerly went through the neatly folded garments only stopping when he came to his father’s favorite sports coat. Ian held it up to his nose and breathed deeply. He could still smell traces of his father’s cologne through the strong odor of moth balls. Ian slipped it on; surprised it fit so well. He took it off and gently refolded the garment. He placed it back inside the trunk. He collapsed the top hat and put it in the truck beside the jacket. “This belongs in here too”, Ian said softly. He tried to close the lid, but a sleeve was sticking out over the rim of the trunk. Ian opened the trunk and pushed the sleeve back inside, then he heard the sound of something hit the floor and roll across the room. It was a button from the jacket. Ian followed the sound of the button; barely glimpsing the small object before it disappeared into a dark corner. He got on his hands and knees to feel around for the item. He felt it, but it was behind some duct work. He stretched his long fingers; his hand barely fitting in the narrow gap. He put all his bodyweight against an adjacent wall to get leverage. He reached the button and removed it from its hiding place. Ian let out a sigh of relief: he then felt the wall he was leaning against move. He scampered away and watched a panel slowly swing open. It was a hidden door. Still on his knees, Ian moved closer to the door. Behind it was a small storage area under an eave of the roof. Inside the space was only a trunk very similar to the one holding his father’s clothes. But it was smaller, like they were parts of a set. Ian pulled out the heavy trunk and opened it.

The smaller trunk contained many strange and wonderful things. There were little bottles of unidentified fluids. A collection of tins with dried plants and what looked like petrified bugs and small amphibians. The largest item was an iron pot about the size of a large mixing bowl that filled half of the trunk. Resting inside the pot was a small jar made of crockery with a cork stopper for the lid. Ian lifted the jar out of the pot. The rattle from the multitude of wooden, metal and crystal charms adorning the jar echoed throughout the attic. Ian stood on his feet, hitting his head on the sloping roof. Rubbing his injury, he walked closer to the bare bulb lighting the attic. Ian studied the small charms that hung from thin strips of leather. The strips were wrapped around the mouth of the jar. Each charm carefully knotted into place. The jar itself was embossed with an intricate, but primitive design. A rather dull, reddish-brown glaze took away from the jar’s otherwise beautiful shape and design. Ian thought it was like nothing he had scene before, definitely worth immortalizing in his sketchbook. He turned off the light and went down the temporary flight of stairs leaving the room a little more cluttered than how he found it.

After closing the staircase, Ian returned to his room and held the jar near the window to get a better look. Its embossing consisted of strange shapes that looked like hieroglyphics. “So beautiful” he whispered. He twisted the cork lid; with a snap it was loose. A sudden breeze rushed through the open window causing the chimes to ring out. The pungent odor of unknown botanicals filled the air. As Ian peered inside the jar he could tell it was the source of the strange aroma. He could see a few stems and leaves mixed within the gritty unidentified powder. Ian shook the jar and noticed a strip of paper buried inside. He reached in with two fingers and pulled it out. It had something on it, handwriting that looked like his father’s. Ian read it out loud, “May this house always keep my family safe”. Ian shook the jar again and found a second strip. It read “May my son always be healthy and happ”. The end of the strip was dark as if from a chemical reaction with the oil or herbs making the last letter, that Ian assumed was a y, illegible. “That explains a lot”, Ian joked before he shook the jar looking for more paper. With no success, Ian looked at the notes and wondered why his father had done this. He put the paper fragments back into the jar and replaced the lid. He positioned the jar on the wide sill of his bedroom window making sure the light was captured by several of the crystal charms. He took out his sketch pad searching for an clean sheet. The tablet contained a multitude of sketches and doodles of one particular subject; JaredDonahue. There were sketches of Jared in different poses and states of undress. Sketches meant for Ian’s eyes only. Ian stopped momentarily to look at his latest Jared sketch, a finely detailed portrait he did from memory. He traced the exquisite contours of Jared’s face and gave out a heavy sigh. “No time for this, I have school work to do.” He found a empty page and started to sketch the jar. It took him a little longer than 5 minutes, spending the extra time to get the highlights and shading exact.

The next day Ian was sitting in class waiting for the professor to arrive. He talked casually to his classmates; the three girls with whom he shared his work station. The conversation stopped when Jared walked in and crossed in front of their desk. All the quartets’ eyes quickly scanned his long, powerful physique. His tight jeans and sleeveless shirt made it obvious he was an athlete. Ian moved his gaze down to his desk quickly before anyone would notice he was staring at the jock. All the women continued to stare hoping that Jared would acknowledge their presence with a smile or a nod. But Jared was oblivious and quietly went to his desk and organized his supplies. The girls didn’t focus back on their own desk until the teacher appeared. Ian kept his head down pretending to be putting the final touches on his sketch. Ian was glad that Jared sat on the other side of the room and behind him, so not to be more of a distraction.

Each student was asked to display their artwork around the perimeter of the room. The teacher studied each sketch briefly before asking the artist to come up and describe his work. As usual Ian’s was clearly one of the best and Jared’s one of the worst. Ian didn’t understand why he was taking the class. He was a business major and Ian knew he had taken more than enough liberal art electives. He had been in several other classes with him already. When the teacher called on Jared everyone was looking at the artist and not his work. Being the star of the school’s water polo team he was used to being the center of attention. His soldier perfect posture contradicted his casual attitude. Jared’s exposed Atlas-like shoulders and tanned arms looked golden in the shaft of sunlight that lit his body. The light reflecting in his blue-green eyes made them sparkle like a mountain lake on a summer day. Ian kept his eyes down, just glancing momentarily in Jared’s direction. He didn’t like the way Jared made him feel. That was a lie, he loved the way Jared made him feel, but Ian wasn’t ready to accept it. His mother had always told him those kinds of feelings were wrong; a sin against God and nature.

Ian absentmindedly began to doodle again in the corner of his pad. He was drawing Jared’s arm. The light causing shadows around his carved musculature. The thick vein from his bicep divided into many thinner versions as it reached his large hand. Ian imagined those strong hands cradling his face as Jared lowered his lips to meet Ian’s in a kiss. Ian heard rumors that Jared was bisexual or even gay, but he thought that was just wishful thinking of the college population. That way everyone could have a chance to be with Jared. Ian snapped out of his daydream when he felt his cock fighting for more room in his underwear. He looked to make sure the bulge wasn’t obvious. He pulled the oversized black, fleece jacket he always wore over his lap. He heard the teacher’s criticisms. Jared just stood there listening, smilingly when the teacher tried to be amusing at his expense.

The teacher kept Ian for last. He came up to explain his work. As usual he was extremely nervous standing in front of the class. He kept his hands in his jacket pockets with his shoulders slouched forward. He started speaking in broken sentences but soon the words began to flow as he stared at the sketch. He lost himself in the art, using terms that most of his peers did not know. When finished the room was still. “Damn, I went into the art geek zone again”, Ian thought. From the back he heard someone say, “What a dork”. There was nervous laughter from several people. Ian put his head down and raised his eyes to quickly scan the room. He noticed a strange smile on Jared’s face as he looked right at him before quickly dropping his gaze.

“I think its great your passion for art runs as deep as your talent. Your perspective and technique are flawless, Ian. The way you used the light shows an eye of a true genius. It’s just wonderful”, the instructor gushed. “The subject is very unique. What is it?”

“I don’t know. I found it in the attic. I think it belonged to my father”, Ian said softly embarrassed by her words. He hated getting praise in front of others.

“Well, your father had a good eye, now I know where you get it. Another job well done”, the teacher said before checking the clock and dismissing the class. Ian went to his desk to collect his belongings. The girls at his desk congratulated him, he saw Jared approach as if he was going to say something. He hurried out of the room not wanting to hear Jared’s words. They never spoke directly to each other. He couldn’t bear to hear anything negative from him.

He finally stopped moving when he reached the quad and sat down on a bench. When he looked up he could see Jared was following him. Ian’s heart started to pound as he got closer. A group of Jared’s fraternity brothers came from the other direction; they surrounded him. Their greeting filled the air like thunder. Jared changed direction and joined his friends. Ian gave a sigh of relief closing his eyes.

“Hey Ian”, the pleasant voice startled him.

“Hey, Amber. What’s up”, Ian replied with a smile. Amber was an art major and had many things in common with Ian. She wore black, baggy clothes and her hair appeared unkempt, hanging in her eyes. But unlike Ian, she was into the Wicca religion and was known as the campus witch.

“I wanted to talk to you about your sketch of the wishing jar” Amber said as she sat down next to Ian placing her very large, raggedy purse/book bag on the bench first. The bag took so much space she was forced to sit very close to Ian, as she planned.

“Wishing jar, what’s that?” Ian asked. He tried to put more room between them but he was already sitting at the edge.

“It’s a vessel used by Wiccans for casting wish spells. We sell them at the shop where I work. But of course they don’t come with all the charms already attached. Each charm makes its more powerful and that jar has a lot of charms. You never told me your father was a witch”, Amber said excitedly.

“My father?” Ian said with surprise. “I’m sure it was a gift from someone. I remembered a lot of strange people coming and going from the house all the time when I was little. Not that witches are strange.” Ian quickly added the last comment after seeing the look on Amber’s face.

“Whatever, I don’t mind if people think I’m strange. Actually I prefer it to being thought of as one of the perky Barbie coeds that populate this bourgeois place.” Amber commented her voice getting louder so the passing group of sorority girls could hear.

Ian chuckled then held up his hand, “I promise never to think of you as perky”.

Amber smiled brightly and playfully slap Ian’s arm. “You are so cute”, Amber said putting her hand on Ian’s bicep, where she slapped him. Ian heard that a lot from girls. He was sure they meant it as a compliment, but Ian didn’t take it that way. Cute was what you call a puppy or a little boy, not a grown man. It made him feel small and weak. That’s the reason he always wore dark, oversized clothing, he thought it made him appear larger, when in reality it did the reverse. He looked like a little kid wearing his big brother’s hand me downs. Amber tightened her grip gently. She was curious what kind of body he had under those baggy clothes. The size and hardness of the muscle she felt surprised her. She slid her hand up to his shoulder and rested her head there. She waited for Ian to make a move, but Ian didn’t respond. After a few awkward moments of silence, Amber removed her head. She stood up, threw her bag over her shoulder. “Well, I’ve got to get to my next class.”

“Me, too”, Ian stammered looking briefly at Amber before turning his gaze to the ground at his feet.

“I’ll see you around. Take care of that jar of yours. It’s some strong mojo.” Amber waved goodbye before turning to walk away, looking over her shoulder once to see if Ian was watching her leave. He wasn’t, he had gotten up and was walking in the opposite direction.

Ian had finished his last class of the day and was in the library doing research for a Russian literature paper. As he scanned the shelves, he saw Jared sitting alone at a small table in the back corner. The desk was piled high with books and scattered paper. Ian had seen him many times working in the library. It had to be a quieter place to work than the jock infested frat house he lived in. Ian never saw any other athlete work and study as much as Jared. In fact he rarely ever saw any other jock spend so much time alone; they always seem to travel around campus in noisy packs. Jared went against type; he was quiet and a loner. Just like me, Ian thought.

Ian walked home from school traveling down the narrow streets of his picturesque neighborhood enjoying the early spring weather. The campus was located downtown and only a few blocks from his house. He was offered scholarships from colleges all around the country, but decided to stay in Charleston to be near his mother. She seemed so lonely after his father died. She needed to be needed, to take care of someone and Ian was all she had left. When Ian got home in found a note on his bedroom door saying his editor had called again. Ian sat at his desk and turned on his laptop. He stared at the blinking cursor on the screen for what seemed like hours. “Fuck this”, he said as he slammed the computer closed. He changed into his running clothes and shoes. He only wore shorts when he ran. He thought his legs, like the rest of him were too skinny to be in public view. He yelled to his mother he was going for a run and would be back later. His mother replied, “be careful” and shook her head. She knew he ran when he couldn’t write and he had been running a lot lately.

Ian ran several miles, his body on automatic pilot. His mind was cluttered with random thoughts, but he kept returning to Jared. He found himself at BritlebankPark. When he came to an empty bench he stopped and stretched out his legs. He sat watching the traffic slowly progress on the river. Other runners passed by him. He saw a group of men his age approaching. All were handsome and well conditioned, their matching outfits and short haircuts made it obvious who they were: underclassmen from the Citadel. The military college was a big reason why his college had two females for every male student. Seeing the fine collection of An Officer and a Gentleman wannabees he understood the women’s motives. The standard issued tight shorts and shirts hugged their powerful frames, the sweat soaked fabric clinging to every engorged muscle. Their leader was one of only two without a shirt. He was one of the tallest and by far the most muscular of the group. His regulation haircut, rugged features and stern expression radiated confidence. His glistening, tanned torso was a work of living art in fluid motion. His broad shoulders, massive chest, chisel abs, and strong arms all worked in perfect unison with his powerful legs to propel him effortlessly forward. His superb conditioning evident was he moved at a good clip without having to gasp for air, his mouth barely open. The large metallic wristwatch and thin coating of dark hair on his chest and forearms made him the definition of virility. There was no mistaken he was the top dog among this pack of alpha males. As he passed he gave a quick glance at Ian; clenching his jaw, flexing his facial muscles to match his toned body. Ian felt his cock twitch. A sudden release of adrenaline made him feel strong and alive. He wanted the military man to take him then and now; quickly, roughly and primal like an animal. All other thoughts were pushed out of his mind. Ian could almost feel the stud’s strong hands touching him, conducting their union like a maestro. He leaned forward to camouflage is aroused state. He watched as the group disappeared down the broad walkway. “Wow, I bet no one has ever called him cute” Ian thought.

On his run back home, Ian kept thinking about what happened. How could another man take control of his mind and body with just one look? No man had ever made him react like that, not even Jared. With Jared it was different; it was more emotional than instinctual. Jared made his heart flutter and his knees weak. Endorphins flooded his body making him feel content and safe. He wanted their time together to be tender and last hours, days, years, a lifetime. Ian now understood the difference between lust and love.

Ian arrived home just in time for dinner. He quickly ate his meal and went upstairs to shower and change. Tonight there was a special off-season exposition match between Jared’s team and another local team. Ian didn’t really care who Jared was playing, he just like seeing Jared in his nature element; the water. Ian never missed a home game; he always sat in the back so not to be seen. But Ian’s eyes never left Jared. Ian loved watching him strip off the team’s warm-up outfit and then admiring his beauty in his tightly packed Speedo. It was obvious Jared was physically superior to his team mates when he stood on the pool deck with his peers. Ian also enjoyed seeing Jared pull himself out of the water, rivulets cascading down his body; the waterlogged swimsuit clinging to his gravity-defying round ass like a mold. Studying the beauty of Jared’s body, Ian realized how it differed from the military man he saw earlier. The runner’s body looked as if it had been carefully carved from a block of granite. It’s innate strength apparent in the final sculpture. He was powerful, massive and supremely masculine. Jared looked as if God had started with a languid armature and delicately applied clay to it, layer upon layer, building up his body to perfection. The mounding muscle in his arms, chest, ass, and legs all individual components but flowing harmoniously together to embody the athletic male. Ian stared at Jared as he talked with the coach. Then Jared did the one thing that always made little Ian stand at attention. Jared nonchalantly adjusted his cock within his molded suit. It took less than a second, and Jared probably wasn’t aware he even had done it. But Ian’s body reacted like he had just made the most erotic gesture known to man. Ian realized lust was a component in the complex feelings he had for Jared too.

After the match, Ian walked home down the quiet dark streets trying to sort out his feelings for Jared. As a writer he needed structure to his thoughts, order to his emotions. This could be the key to breaking through his writer’s block and finishing his book. He knew Jared was a physically beautiful man, but what about his personality. He thought about how Jared was always the first one to comfort a team mate when he missed a play or yelled at by the coach. Ian couldn’t hear the conversation, but the body language said it all. Jared spoke softly and put his hand on the other man’s shoulder or back, the talk always ending with a smile or a loud grunt to get the team focused on the game. Jared showed real compassion when he didn’t have to. Maybe the real Jared was just as honorable as the man he created in his story.

Ian sat at his desk, the glow of his computer the only light in his room. He stared at the screen, not seeing the blank screen but images of Jared. Feeling frustrated, he reached for his sketch pad and went to his drawing of Jared in his swimsuit. His lay down on his bed and lowered his shorts. He started to stroke his growing hard-on. Ian couldn’t come. He turned to another drawing and rubbed his cock faster. Nearing climax but unable to cum, Ian threw the pad across the room. He knew the fantasy Jared would no longer satisfy him. He needed the real thing. He had to take a chance. Even if it meant Ian had to face the truth about his own sexuality. He had to be truthful with himself before he could evolve and progress as a writer and a man. But how? Ian sat up on his bed. He heard his father’s chimes ring out from the garden below. He looked at the window and saw the wishing jar. He thought for a moment; then he picked up his pad and ripped a strip of paper from the bottom of a page. He wrote on the paper, “I wish Jared would fall in love with me”. He put the paper in the jar and set it on his desk. He sat in the chair and looked at the jar. After a moment, he tore several more strips of paper and wrote the same thing again on each. He pushed the strips into the jar and said, “Better not take any chances”.

The next day was Wednesday and Jared wasn’t in any of Ian’s classes. Ian sought Jared out on campus, getting in close proximity several times. Ian didn’t walk up to him since he was always surrounded by his hunky fraternity brothers or team mates. Ian felt so insignificant when he was around men like that. Ian and Jared made eye contact briefly just once, but exchanged no words. He overheard the jocks talking about a casual football game planned for the afternoon. Ian thought that would be a great way to get near Jared. But that was Jared’s area of expertise, not Ian’s. He didn’t want to be a skinny kid looking foolish playing a game with real athletes. Only if there was a way to look like one of Jared’s friends, to be the kind of man Jared was used to being with; a man worthy of Jared’s love.

He hurried home and removed his clothes. He stood in front of the mirror above his dresser. His lanky body was extremely defined. His mother had enrolled him in martial arts classes a year or two after his father died. She was concerned his interest in culture and the arts were too feminine; she wanted to make sure he had masculine influences too. The four years of training showed in his broad shoulders and well developed musculature. His love of running kept him lean. But Ian only saw a skinny boy; not the handsome, ripped man everyone else saw. He tore a piece of paper and wrote, “I want to look like the kind of man Jared could love”. He put in the jar and stood in front of the mirror with his eyes closed. After taking a deep breath he opened his eyes. Nothing had happened. Ian let out a sigh and sat on his bed. Then he thought about the difference between love and lust. Love takes time and he didn’t have time. But lust is instinctive and instantaneous. “I need Jared to lust after me first. I need to look irresistible. He could fall in love with me later.” Ian tore another piece of paper and wrote “I wish to look like the military man I saw running along the river”. Placing the paper in the jar, Ian held the canister between his legs as he sat on the bed. He closed his eyes, after a few seconds he opened them and looked down at his body. Nothing had changed. He stood up and placed the jar back on the desk; he looked up into the mirror and was startled. Looking back at him was the hunky runner. Ian looked down again at his trim waist; it looked like it always had. He looked back into the mirror and ran his hand over the corrugated steel midsection he saw. He crunched down slightly and he could feel the muscles harden and expand, but when he looked down at his hand the muscles were gone. He raised his arms and flexed, the man in the mirror did the same. His arms and shoulders exploded with strength. He took his left hand and felt-up his still hard right bicep. It felt so large, hard and powerful. He tore his gaze from the mirror once more to look directly at his arm and saw a ball of muscle about a third smaller. He explored the rest of his body as he watched the mirror. It was like the runner was miming his every move perfectly. He ran his hands over his chest, feeling the expansive slabs of muscle hanging over his six pack. The fine coating of hair felt so soft and sensual. He turned slightly and brought his hands to his ass, the large globes snapping to attention with Ian’s command. He caressed his thighs, flexing them to make them swell with power. His cock was now expanding. “I knew you would have a huge set of balls”, Ian commented as he observed the hunk’s nut sack. It had to be nearly twice his real size. However the stud had maybe an only inch advantage when it came to the length of his cock: though he definitely bested Ian in its girth. Not surprising, everything about his guy was thick. Ian leaned closer to see his image’s rugged face while stroking his hard cock with one hand. Up close he was even more masculine looking than he remembered. His face looked as muscular and sculpted as his body. Ian thought, “Fuck, this is what a real man looks like”. He was now Jared’s equal if not bigger and stronger. He imagined it was Jared stroking his cock. Ian struggled to keep his eyes open so not to loose the fantasy. Ian felt his balls spasm and he released a load of cum. It spurted toward the mirror most falling onto his dresser. Ian stood there for a moment catching his breath, watching the muscle hunk’s muscles expand with each deep breath. He tore himself away from the virile vision and blotted up his spunk with several tissues. Now that he had dealt with his primal urges, he could think more clearly. What was happening? Why did his reflection look so different from what he saw with his own eyes? Did the jar’s magic have limitations he didn’t know? Maybe it only changed his image, like an optical illusion. How would other people see him? He had to find out.

Ian opened the drawer of his dresser and searched near the bottom of the pile. He pulled out a pair of medium sized shorts his mother had bought him. He never wore them because he thought they were too tight, even though they were his correct size. He pulled them on. They felt slightly confining compared to the oversized clothes he preferred. But when he looked in the mirror, the shorts looked painted on. The material clung to his meaty thighs and ass. The bulge of his manhood tested the fabric forming a pouch he didn’t see when he looked down. He took his barely soft endowment in his palm, lifting up; forcing the tight material under his package. The adjustment made the bulge between his legs higher, larger, and stand-out further from his body. The man in the mirror smiled his approval. Next Ian searched for another never worn item his mother had bought. It was a spandex muscle shirt. He pushed his arms and head through the small openings and lowered the cloth over his torso. Ian could feel the stretchy material hugging his frame. He looked in the mirror and smiled again. He looked like such a jock. He appeared even more muscular with clothes on then when naked. His pecs stood out from his chest causing a shadow underneath. Without any sleeves, his shoulders looked wider and more massive. His arms hung like powerful weapons even relaxed at his side. The tight shirt showcased the V shape of his torso, making him look more manly and athletic. Ian focused on the reflection’s thick, fuzzy forearms and wrists, something was missing. He snapped his fingers and opened the top right side drawer. He pulled out a small box and placed it on top of the dresser. He opened the box and put his father’s large wristwatch over his left hand. He snapped the metal clasp close and let his arm fall back to his side. With a slight shake of his wrist, Ian smiled at the man before him. “No one can resist this.” •

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