Flash Fiction - The Changed Light

They said the light was gone from his eyes.

It wasn’t true. Not really. The light wasn’t gone. Just… different.

Before, he had sparkled behind those eyes; like a freshly lit candle, like a new bulb, vibrant and undeniable.

That was gone, true.

But what had taken its place was a steadier… duller… warmth. Like the low, red-orange glow of a familiar space heater… just bright enough to define itself, and cast a lazy, hazy light over its surroundings. But not enough to outshine anything else.

He didn’t much care what they said about him anyway. He was long past that point. He’d changed too much - grown too much.

When people asked him where the old him had gone - and they often asked where the old him went - he’d flex an arm and point to it and say “he’s in there somewhere.” It was half a joke; half not a joke. They’d laugh a little, and move on. They probably assumed that the total change they observed was actually just in their heads; because nobody really transformed as totally as that. Surely, the old him was still alive. Surely, he’d only changed as much as anyone did when they found a new passion, and started spending all their time and money on it. He didn’t bother to correct them. Or, to answer their texts; they didn’t get that who he was now was just… different, to who he’d been before.

They couldn’t understand.

They would never know the power of simple words, repeated softly in his ears; the potential of relaxing and dropping and listening to someone describe the life he’d always longed… always wanted to have.

Did I, always want this?

His head buzzed. He shook it, once, like an ox shaking off flies.

Other people couldn’t understand how he’d changed because in some sense - he didn’t understand how it happened. When he tried to think about it, he got fuzzy, and foggy, and slow. He usually ended up cumming to clear his head.

(It didn’t work.)

What’s important is that he understood that whatever was happening, he wanted more of it. Because now, when he looked in the mirror, he liked what he saw. He liked how he’d grown. He filled his clothes out now; sleeves were tight around his biceps, his button-ups barely fit, and he now struggled to find pants that were a fit for how his thighs and ass had swollen. The first time he realized that problem, he jerked off on the spot, staring at his own legs. He used to have to look elsewhere, outside of himself, for muscle… find other idols, men on The Path, to squeeze a load out to. But now, any time he wanted… he could just get off to himself.

That fact made his cock twitch.

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I'm experimenting right now with doing a little flash fiction every day, 500 words. Today's was masculinization-horny so said I'd share it! It's not edited because it's flash fiction; but should be OK 😝