Complimentary Hotel Soap

Roland was proud to strut through the hotel, empty ice bucket in hand, wearing only a midriff cutoff tank-top, shorts, and a pair of boots. Every young gay man he strutted past became fixated on his broad, well-built body, especially the massive pecs filling up his top (and the hairy musclegut poking out beneath it). As a 50 year old man, he was proud to flaunt his body, especially since the average age of the guys flitting around were in their early twenties. After about five minutes of wandering around looking for the ice machine (and pretending not to notice the thirsty gawking), he headed downstairs to the tiny hotel bar he’d noticed when they were checking in.

“WOW!” said the bartender, the only person in the vicinity anywhere near his age; he looked to be in his early forties. There were four small tables in the bar area, as well as four stools at the bar. A small cadre of early-twenties twinks sipped martinis around one of the tables. All of their jaws dropped as Roland, who looked to be the size of all of the twinks squashed together, lumbered past.

Roland smiled and held up his empty ice bucket. “Just looking for some ice for the room,” he said in his deep voice. “Sodas aren’t cold.”

The bartender, a thin blonde man, smirked. “What’s with the outfit?” He gestured toward Roland’s tanned, fur-covered musclegut. “Those just your pajamas or is this business attire?”

Roland chuckled. “I’m not a hooker if that’s what you mean,” he said with a shrug of his big shoulders. “This is just what I was wearing in my room. Figured the ice machine would be closer.”

The bartender nodded, taking the bucket from him. He added a few scoops from his ice well, then handed it back. “I can’t let you leave without offering a drink. I’m Mason.”

“Roland,” he responded, offering a meaty hand for a shake.

“You single, Roland?”

Roland chuckled. “Single for life,” he said. “By choice.” He leaned against the bar, shifting his hips. The cluster of twinks, still laser-focused on his body, gasped as his melon-sized glutes fought for space in his tight shorts, the bottom inch of each buttock hanging out the bottom. “And I don’t drink anymore, so I’m good.”

“Damn,” Mason said with a grin, polishing a beer glass with long, slow strokes. “Wish I’d been around when you DID drink. Bet you were a fucking man-slayer when you were younger.”

“I’m a man-slayer now,” Roland said with a wink. “Thanks for the ice.”

“I’ll send by room service in a bit,” Mason said. “Expect a little surprise up in your room, big guy!”

There seemed to be young gay men milling around every room and hallway of the hotel. Roland had heard there was some big gay festival in town–some drinking get-together where shirtless dudes would be grinding and snapping photos for their social media and having all sorts of illicit activities all weekend. That sort of thing wasn’t his style anymore, of course, although a part of him missed that feeling of being young, dumb and so horny he couldn’t think.

As he punched the elevator button, he heard a whistle behind him. “Salt-and-pepper daddy!”

Roland confidently turned, grinning before he saw who the voice belonged to: a tall, ripped man with jet-black curly hair wearing nothing but a (heavily packed) speedo. The older man smiled, stroke his grey-smattered beard before scratching a big pec. “That all you want to say?” he said, taking a step toward the stud. The guy was tall–6’3” at least, standing more than a head taller than Roland. He wasn’t as bulky as the guys Roland usually messed around with, but he had a smoldering glare, icy blue eyes and a confident swagger. (Plus, the bulge in his tight trunk was impossible to ignore.)

A crowd formed around the two as Roland approached him. “What’s your name, Junior?”

The stud put his hands on his hips and threw his head back. “Walker,” he said. “But you can call me Junior if you want. Fucking love you short guys. I bet you get bigger just by LOOKING at weights.”

Roland nodded at Walker’s groin. “I bet THAT thing gets bigger just by looking at guys like me.”

“I don’t think there’s any other guys like you around, Mr. Muscles,” Walker said, bending at the waist, truly reveling in the height he had over this man who could easily snap him in half.

“Why don’t you fuck already?” someone in the crowd shouted.

“I usually don’t fuck before I hit the weights,” Roland said. “I need that edge to train.”

“Hotel doesn’t have a gym,” Walker responded, “but I can give you a workout.”
“I’ll let you know,” Roland said. “I’m in room 24. Why don’t you swing by when you’re done messing around with all these youngsters?” He gestured to the men in their 20s milling around.

“Will do,” Walker said. They stared at each other, heat intensifying between them, before Roland finally broke the gaze. He headed back to the elevator, punched the button, and ignored the fact that Walker was still staring at him as he waited. He flexed his glutes, one at a time, then stepped into the elevator without even turning around to see the reaction.
A dark-skinned man was leaving room 24 as Roland approached. He hung his head meekly as Roland walked by. “Hey, pal,” he said in his gravelly voice. “What were you doing in my room?”

“Room service,” the man said in a quiet voice. He gestured toward his nametag–Duane–and hung his head as he walked by.

“I didn’t order any–” Roland began until he remembered what Mason had said. “Oh, right. Thanks for… whatever you dropped off.”

Roland found a bottle of champagne and a chocolate-covered orange wrapped in aluminum on the mini-fridge in the room. “No card,” he said. “Thanks, Mason. Pretty sure I said I didn’t drink.”

Roland’s friend and client Eric was still snoring loudly from the bedroom. Roland knocked on the door lightly, clearing his throat. “You gonna sleep all day, buddy?”

Eric suddenly started awake with a snort, sitting up. He looked around, confused, before letting out a large fart. “Oh, fuck,” he said. “Those margaritas I had last night really… really put me under…” He slapped a chubby hand to his face and sat up.

Eric and Roland were the same age, but they were built far differently: Eric was six feet tall but soft-bodied and paunchy. His face was doughy, his head-shaved to obscure his thinning hair. Roland smiled as he watched Eric trying to collect himself.

“You know I’m going to have you do about a thousand burpees later to make up for the drinks last night, right?” Roland said. Eric sighed deeply, then struggled to rise, farting again as soon as he was upright.

“I’ll open a window,” Eric grumbled as Roland brought the ice bucket back to the room’s entryway.
Roland heard Eric slurping water from the bathroom faucet. “Jesus, you sound like a horse at a trough.”

Eric finally stumbled out of the bathroom, his over-sized t-shirt tight around his paunch and man-boobs. He rubbed his eyes, then gawked at Roland’s attire. “The fuck–did you walk around dressed like that IN PUBLIC?”

Roland chuckled. “It’s what I woke up in,” he said with a shrug. “I didn’t know I’d be walking through the whole damned hotel just looking for ice.”

“Jesus christ, how many twinks threw themselves on your dick as you walked by?” Eric asked.

Roland just laughed as a response. Then, after a beat: “Oh, there was one guy who had the balls to actually walk up and hit on me.”

“Hot?"

“Tall guy. Not much muscle, but cocky as fuck. BIG dick in his shorts.”

“Ho-ho! Is Mr. Macho thinking about bottoming for once?”

Roland laughed. “Never bottomed a day in my life, don’t plan to start. BUT, I do love banging those cocky big-dicked guys. Love hearing their big dicks just flapping against their belly while I make them my bitch.”

Eric shook his head. “Jesus, Roland, what I would do if I look like you.”

“You keep me hired as your personal trainer and you WILL look like me,” Roland responded.

“Speaking of which,” Eric said. “I’m not paying for this trip, am I? I thought I’d be assisting you, but if you’re gonna be making me workout the whole time… I don’t owe you for sessions, do I?”

“Nope,” Roland responded, spooning some ice into a cup and pouring some club soda over it. The two were headed to a strongman competition two towns away. Eric, who had been Roland’s personal training client for two years, had offered to be Roland’s “cornerman” during the meet. Getting trained for free was just one form of compensating the heavyset man (in addition to letting him gawk at gigantic strongmen the whole weekend).

Eric picked up one of the foil-wrapped oranges. “I’m guessing this isn’t going to be allowed on my diet, is it?”

“You only get the margaritas last night as a cheat this week,” Roland said. “And I hope you had fun, because you’re going to work HARD to sweat those off.”

Eric smirked. “Meh. Honestly, I regret them. Eye-candy was nice, but all these 25 year old twinks think they’re too good to hang out with a 50 year old bear like me. Too bad I didn’t have my musclestud personal trainer down here as a wingman!”

Roland chuckled as he dropped to the floor to do some pushups. “Maybe twenty–or even ten–years ago. Not today though. Too old for that nonsense.”

“Bro, when do you get laid?” Eric asked, unaware that he was pitching a tent in his boxers just looking at Roland starting to sweat. “I mean, you probably have more testosterone in your body than blood. You must be horny all the time! When do you get off?”

“Whenever I want,” Roland said. He hopped to his feet, gave a casual glance at Eric’s tented boxers (Good god; for an out-of-shape guy, was sure was well hung!) and headed to the bathroom. “Gonna take a shower,” he said. “You go get breakfast. Keep me in mind when you make your decisions: oatmeal, egg whites, greek yogurt.”

“Got it,” Eric said, pulling on some tight-fitting sweatpants that did nothing to hide both his flabby ass and the hefty bulge in his boxers. 

With Eric gone, Roland returned to the open window. He leaned out to take in the sight of all of the gay men partying on the street as rainbow flags flapped from every nearby business.

“YEAH muscledaddy!” a drunk twink dancing on a minivan shouted to Roland. “Let’s see you flex big man!”

Roland chuckled, then curled his arm, bouncing his arm a few times. He soaked up the cheers from the street before retreating to the shower. Playing around was fun, but he had a routine to get to. Shower came first.

Roland stepped into the hotel's cramped shower, his beefy shoulders almost too wide to fit. Steamy water cascaded over his mountainous frame. He reached for the body wash on the shower’s shelf: unopened, its cap wrapped in gold foil. “Pricey shit,” he thought as he noticed the label: "Revitalize - Youthful Essence." It smelled strangely sweet, a mix of honey and exotic flowers. He shrugged and began to lather it onto his body, the rich foam spreading across his broad chest and down his powerful arms. The scent was intoxicating, and he closed his eyes. He’d meant for this to be a quick shower, but suddenly he wanted to take his time, letting the hot water and the sweet aroma transport him to a place of relaxation.

A pleasant tingling sensation spread through his skin, starting from his chest and radiating outwards. It was pleasant, almost euphoric, and he smiled, thinking it was just the invigorating properties of the body wash. But as he opened his eyes and glanced down, he noticed something astonishing: his chest seemed less expansive, his muscles not as defined.

His heart skipped a beat as he watched his body changing, subtly at first. He thought his muscles might have been shrinking, but as he clapped his hands on his glutes he was relieved to find they were still there. His chest looked smaller for some reason though–”Must need a pump.”

Moments later, it became undeniable that he was somehow changing. He was still a formidable figure, but there was a noticeable softness to his once rock-hard physique. His beard was shorter, less dense, and the hair on his chest and arms was thinner. He flexed his arms, feeling the loss of some of that incredible strength, the power that had once come so effortlessly.

The tingling continued, and he felt his body shift again. The difference was stark. His massive pecs had dwindled, though they were still impressive by normal standards. His arms, once like rippling pillars, were now just well-toned, and the hair on his body had reduced further, leaving him nearly smooth except a few tufts under his arms and a tiny bush above his cock. His beard was a shadow of its former self, giving him a more youthful, less rugged look.

As the water poured over him, he could feel his legs and buttocks lose their bulk. His calves, once thick and strong, were now slender and sleek. His once colossal thighs, which had powered through countless squats, were now lean and lithe. He felt an odd sensation of lightness, as if the weight of his muscle-bound form had melted away.

Finally, the tingling reached its peak. He looked down at his smooth, slender body, his once massive frame now replaced with the lean, delicate build of his youth. His big buttocks, one of the few constants, now seemed out of proportion with his lithe frame. His chest was flat, his abs still visible but on a much narrower torso and without the deep cuts of muscle. His arms and legs were thin, almost fragile-looking compared to his previous hulking form. The hair on his body was gone, his skin smooth and soft to the touch.

Roland stood in the shower, the water still cascading over him, trying to process the incredible transformation. He flexed his arms, feeling the smooth skin and the lack of resistance from his once powerful muscles. He was no longer the pinnacle of power and masculinity, but there was something undeniably pleasant about the sensation, a reminder of a simpler time in his life.

He stepped out of the shower, his slender frame dripping with water, and looked at himself in the mirror. The reflection staring back at him was both familiar and foreign. He touched his smooth face, tracing the line of his jaw, marveling at the transformation.

Staring back at him was his own face, and body, at age 20. He'd forgotten what it was like to be this small, this "cute"--in fact, he'd spent 30 years trying to bury the little Twink he used to be in muscles and masculinity.

He gasped as he realized how much bigger everything seemed now that he had shed so much mass. Despite his amazement and confusion, his cock was already pointing upward. Roland felt a heady need to take care of it, despite his predicament.

Then he heard a knock on the door. He froze–he needed help, but he couldn’t even begin to form the words that would have explained his situation. He grabbed a towel, shocked at how large and heavy it seemed, and wrapped it around himself.

“Yo, big man!” came the voice from the other side. “It’s Walker! I’m done playing with boys and ready for a REAL man!”

Roland shook. He grabbed his phone from the bathroom counter and waited for it to unlock. “Face not recognized,” flashed and his heart sank.