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Heck, he felt terrific. Inside, he found nothing but condiments and a half-carton of orange juice — it had been a while since he had money for groceries. Still, he took a long swig of the orange juice before he replaced the carton and closed the fridge. Catching sight of his reflection in the metal surface of the fridge, he frowned. Was it just his imagination? Or was his gut looking a little smaller? Well, it only made sense after a day of puking. Good for a pound or two, at least, he thought to himself. But there was no way he was taking another of those pills, that was for sure.
Nick walked back towards his room to get dressed, but stopped as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He frowned, then started to grin incredulously. His beer belly was noticeably smaller, and the elastic of his briefs was definitely a little looser. He hurried to the bathroom and his old nemesis, the scale. With his fingers crossed, he stepped on. He had lost over ten pounds. Blinking in disbelief, Nick stepped off and stepped on again, but the change from yesterday was real.
Eleven, nearly twelve pounds, gone just like that. The memory of his day spent projectile vomiting was already fading. It could only get easier from here, and if it meant losing more weight He could practically see it happening before his eyes, and even if he could believe it was some kind of weird hallucination, the photo evidence he was dutifully compiling showed otherwise.
He spent a lot more time than he would admit to staring at those, and at his reflection in the mirror. He had noticed one side effect though. His beard, usually pretty thick and full, had become patchy and wispy — and he started to find a lot of it left on the pillow when he woke up. What the hell, he thought. Maybe it was time to try a different, hipper style of facial hair, he mused. No other word for it. His flabby arms were finally slimming down, his triple chin was now a double, and heading for single, and his gut was slowly but surely disappearing.
Talk about your Christmas miracles. He even called up Wes to apologize for his lack of faith. I really owe you one,. I already called to let them know. You should have told me though. Yeah, the beard thing I should have said Nothing else though? There is one thing. Keep taking the pictures and recording your weight, okay? Good luck, man. Man boobs. Yeah, right. DAY 6 By the sixth day, Nick was down 58 pounds, and though the weight loss was tapering off, it showed no signs of stopping.
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Needless to say, he was ecstatic. None of his old clothes fit him anymore — his old pants felt like a circus tent, and his T-shirts were more like ponchos. Day six was also remarkable for two reasons; it was the day he shaved the last remaining peach fuzz from his face and marveled at the smooth young visage that looked back at him from the mirror And it was the day his appetite came back!
So that evening he decided to order in a pizza.
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Staying at home and not eating had been great for his budget, and he figured he could get a large But then, looking at his little bottle of pills, he decided to make it a small, just in case. No need to jeopardize what he had worked so hard for.
When he buzzed the pizza delivery guy in about a half-hour later, the smell wafting out of the cardboard box had him practically salivating. He had spent the day watching TV and texting rather than talking. What a smart-ass! As if Nick, a trained actor — A professional performer who had been this close to getting the gig as the voice of the Wesley Insurance Weasel — could have his voice betray him.
Okay, maybe it had lost a little of its old timbre and pitch, but the voice was like any instrument: if you neglected it, it just needed a little attention to keep it robust. So as he walked into the kitchen and set the pizza down, he did a few vocal exercises, sliding down through his range. Ignoring the tempting smell of the pizza for just a minute longer, Nick walked to the full length mirror. He was clad in a now-baggy sweater and a pair of old sweatpants from his college days. But even though his arms and waist had slimmed down dramatically, there were still those two damn lumps tenting out the front of his sweater, and his hips and.
Standing there, with his now shaggy silver hair, along with the poor lighting in his apartment and squeaking voice, maybe the pizza guy really had mistaken him for a chick. At least, what there was left of it? The weight loss was still rolling along, to the tune of a staggering 72 pounds, and Nick now barely recognized himself from head to toe. His neck and shoulders were slender, and his arms were pretty much pipe stems. These were no moobs.
They were too high, too round, too firm, and entirely too perky. No, these were honest-to-god breasts, and at least a C-cup, if his knowledge of lingerie catalogues was anything to go on. He was equally disconcerted by how they stretched and distorted the design of his shirt. The only problem was, his now-tiny waist flared into a set of very womanly hips and full, firm booty which the work out pants seemed to enhance. Nick gulped. He looked like a total freak.
How was he going to go out in public,. His phone rang, distracting him from his thoughts, and he picked it up instantly.
We can meet at the same bar as last time. Just finish off the course Nick groaned, staring at his reflection in the mirror, thinking back to the big glossy brochure Wes had shown him in the bar. Every single one of the photos had been of a woman. DAY 10 Nick considered flushing the last few pills down the toilet several times over the next few hours, but in the end he relented, still holding out one desperate shred of hope that the last pounds he lost would be the ones from his chest and rear.
He was to have no such luck. While it looked like his breasts were as large as ever, his waist had shrunk another inch or so and his buttocks had shed a pound or two, but only in the service of giving him the firm, taut, apple-shaped bottom that guys lusted over. Grimacing, Nick wrapped an old bandage around his chest, hoping to keep his new rack at least partially in check. The bouncing drove him crazy, and that was without anyone else to see it — going out in public was going to be nerve-wracking.
Then he hitched up his sweatpants, shrugged into the big baggy hoodie, and stepped into his trainers. On the way to the bar where he was meeting Wes, he felt like every single person on the street was staring at him. By the time he slid into the corner booth where Wes was waiting, Nick was all but shaking from nerves. Nick nearly exploded on the spot.
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Are you freaking kidding me? You knew about this? And guys have estrogen in their body, too — unfortunately, Fatenslimmer still seems to be go a little crazy with it. Ergo, tits. And a rocking bod in general. Why appeal to 50 percent of the market when you can take the whole thing, right?
I look like a freak! My suggestion? Roll with it. I am two seconds from ripping your head off. This opens up a ton of roles for you. I bet you can pass as a pretty hot chick. In its current form, Fatenslimmer permanently alters the metabolism. We need repeat customers, after all. He felt like the world was spinning all around him. This was permanent. He was skinny, yes, but at the cost of his masculinity. He had tits and ass, now. And there was no way to get rid of them. She loves it, says they do amazing work. Thanks for your participation. Those puppies are bouncing around like crazy when you walk.
Just wait. It was woman enough to pass, though the big round boobs he was currently stuffing into a tiny Christmas elf costume helped quite a bit as well. First, a full-body waxing that had left him bright red from both the sting and the embarrassment, then a thorough skin treatment, manicure, pedicure, and facial. After that, a full makeup session.
At least nobody would ever be able to recognize him. He was stuck in a tiny strapless dress with a tight-fitting glittery green bodice designed to hug his tiny waist and cup his boobs into a mouth-watering valley of cleavage, and a flouncy, indecently short hem adorned with bells that jingled with every high-heeled step. He was just now getting the hang of said heels, shiny green pumps with a three- inch spike that helped his legs, encased in stripy stockings, to look even longer and sexier. Shimmering gold bracelets and a glittery green elf hat, perched jauntily on his perfectly-coiffed silver hair, completed the pretty picture.
So, big smiles, lead the kids to Santa, take pictures with whoever asks, and it never hurts to flirt a little. Got it? Maybe Wes was right, and he could make the best of a bad situation. Once he had his bills paid, there were all sorts of auditions coming up. Nick fluffed his boobs, faked up his biggest, brightest smile, and sashayed out onto the stage, ready to giggle, hand out candy-canes, and maybe impart a little advice on the kiddies, too. For instance: never, ever, under any circumstances, accepting early Christmas presents from shady pharmaceutical companies.
It should also be mentioned that Nicole did have to begrudgingly admit that the buffer, manlier and younger Santa Claus was a big hit. Customers loved him, especially the mothers. Eventually, even she came to prefer the handsome and virile Santa herself — and she was his favorite elf.
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She received several presents under her tree that holiday season. Book 1 in a Sick Puppy Comics series. Candlewick Court is looking for new residents. Three college with a mysterious purpose. Things start to get a a little strange, and they begin to lose their mas- Surrender to Candlewick culinity day by day. Book 2 in a even notice What kind of bizarre transformations The Pet Sitter await them? Book 3 in a like circumstances adapt James to become series.
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