Before the world became a gayer and hornier place, waking up feeling in tip top health would have normally been great luck. Things were different now, though, and the truth was that waking up feeling as good as I did that morning after being exceptionally drunk the night before was alarming. The fact that I felt like I could easily hike tens of miles, or swim across a river without even getting winded was an unwelcome hint that my life was about to change.
I'd seen it firsthand with one of my best friends and roommate Art's younger brother Patrick, who'd been the first guy I'd met to go through the same thing. Still going through it, if we are being honest. He'd just started coming to terms with the fact that he'd become a designated bottom. I spent the next 40 minutes searching the internet to review everything the world knew about these changes that started five years ago.
I'd give anything to go back in time and be one of the millions of people whose sexual orientation and libido changed seemingly overnight. I'd much rather just be bi and extremely horny like my other best friend and roommate Clyde, then have undergone no changes at all, and now become part of the second waves of changes. Designated bottoms, as they were officially called, had been straight, gay, bi, trans, burnouts, CEOs, masculine, feminine. All kinds of men have experienced this change. Regardless of their orientation beforehand, designated bottoms all became fully gay, fully submissive, and slutty beyond reason. And not only that, they inspire an insane amount of horniness in the men around them, also regardless of orientation.
I read a story of a man, father of 4, who was considered rather domineering, though successful. In the span of a few weeks, he went from a high-powered lawyer who owned his own practice, to selling off his half to his partner, and becoming a free use bottom for men looking to get off a few blocks away from the courthouse he used to spend his days in. One man was an up-and-coming doctor in a highly specialized field. He still does his work there but spends his weekends making "house calls" to private residences or gay bathhouses to take any loads he's given. And another guy started changing to a designated bottom right as he started basic training with the army. They found a different place for him after finding him at the center of a recruit gangbang. After the sergeants took turns, of course. All these men reported being happier than ever, but that only made me more nervous.
The life I'd pictured for myself was starting to slip through my fingers. Though there were some pros I learned of in my furious attempts to find some detail about these changes that proves I wasn't turning into a designated bottom. Apparently, the initial reports of feeling very physically well were not temporary. Those who had STDs beforehand found themselves testing negative after the change. And so far, the studies were showing essentially zero risk of ever catching STDs or passing them to others. Basically, designated bottoms don't get sick, don't get injured easily, and don't even need to sleep as much.
These details were poor comfort, though. Those qualities would all be enviable under normal circumstances, but this was not a normal circumstance. I was well and truly freaked. I decided I needed to get out of the house and clear my head a little. It was some consolation that I felt well enough to go for a quick run before Clyde and Art woke up. I didn't want to run into them.
It was a nice morning, and it was still very early so not a lot of people were out. Which suited me fine. I ran to a park a few blocks away and found a quiet place to think. It occurred to me at that point that I might have been freaking out over nothing. Maybe it wasn't that I was becoming a designated bottom. Maybe I just lucked out and didn't get hungover. I'd been drinking water all day yesterday, after all. This could just be me jumping to conclusions.
The park was mostly empty even on a Sunday morning, which I was grateful was the case. The only folks I saw were some people walking their dogs, and other runners like me. A guy jogged by me on my bench. I noticed his shorts were loose but hugged him well. I saw the faint outline of his dick flopping around with every step and felt myself swallow hard. Why was I checking out his dick? I knew why but didn't want to admit it. Didn't want to make it real by attributing its cause. I turned my gaze away and saw another guy in compression tights. Fuck! My eyes darted to a few other guys before I realized this was a mistake. I ran home as quickly as possible.
When I walked in the door, I found Art sitting on the couch. He looked up at me and smiled.
"Damn dude, you are up early! Trying to jog off the hangover?"
"Uh... yeah something like that." I avoided making direct eye contact. If this was really happening it would probably be too early for someone like Art to notice, but I couldn't bear the thought of him looking at me... the way Clyde looked at Patrick. "I'm going to get cleaned up."
"Okay dude. Don't hog the bathroom."
The shower was warm, and I was grateful to be alone for a moment again. I washed my body methodically. As I lathered up my arms and legs, I noticed again how much more toned I felt from just the day before. I decided to rub one out and hope that it was just a weird case of feeling horny in the morning after drinking. I started to stroke my dick slowly, thinking of the last girl I fucked. Her name was Maggie, and we had met at a coffee shop, and then again at a party Clyde brought us too. I invited her home, and she sucked my dick before straddling me in bed and riding my cock like nobody's business. I imagined her tits bouncing up and down, and her wet pussy opening for my dick.
My dick remained soft. I stroked, and slid, and tried to recall more girls I'd fucked. More breasts I'd kissed. Not a stir from downstairs. Then I remembered the guys from the park this morning. The flopping dick in the guy's running shorts. The compression tights that showed off that other guy's calves, and his own bulge. I'd already stopped stroking when the images of girls weren't doing the trick, but to my dismay when I looked down, I saw my dick was at full attention. I tried to will it away, but no luck. At this point I thought it would be best to just shoot a load and hope that'd be it. I started furiously stroking my cock, and just let my mind wander to the bodies of the guys I saw on my morning jog. While my right hand beat my meat, my left started rubbing over the rest of my body. Feeling my stronger arms, my pecs that felt harder than I've ever been able to achieve. And then over my ass. It was also more toned, and as I got closer to orgasm, my mind continued to race, and my hand continued to rub, and I found my fingers brushing up against my asshole as if by instinct.
I moaned loudly at the sensation, and just the touch was enough to bring me to climax. As if this situation wasn't bad enough, though, the last image in my head as I came was not of the guys I'd seen. It was the image of a naked Clyde pumping away at Patrick's hole. I shot 7 or 8 ropes of cum and felt weak in the knees. It was one of the best orgasms of my life, and the worst part was that I was disturbed by what brought it on. The stories I'd read, and that Clyde had shared with me made me sure in this moment that getting fucked by Clyde was inevitable. Art too, probably. I finished my shower in shock and numbness. Post-nut clarity helped, but the image of Clyde's naked thrusting body was still there when I closed my eyes.
Clyde was awake when I got out of the shower. Him and Art were watching something in the living room. There was no avoiding them, so I went in and tried my best to not look them in the eyes when I told them I was going out to get coffee and would be back later. They groaned okay through the pain of their hangovers. I was grateful they didn't look up or think much of it but was again confronted with a new feeling when I saw Clyde was shirtless and in grey sweatpants. He'd told me before that he loved a guy in grey sweatpants and I never thought much of it, but now I understood better what he meant. More fear at that revelation, but I was out of the house looking for somewhere, anywhere to go to avoid guys.
Walking down the street, guys were unavoidable. And while most seemed not to notice me there were a few that seemed to do a double take. That only made me even more nervous about my situation than I already had been. Living in a city made it very difficult to find a place that wasn't my apartment where I could be alone. I wanted to find a place to disappear to, but nothing was coming to mind. I rounded a corner and walked face first into a guy nearly a foot taller than me and landed flat on my ass. He apologized and reached out his hand. Instinctively, I took it, and he helped me up which of course ended with us looking each other dead in the eyes. And when that happened, he smiled widely. A knowing smile. I remembered what I'd read that early on when a guy first becomes a designated bottom, it is not evident except to experienced gay tops.
"Well, hello there," he said. I wanted to avert my eyes but found it very difficult to do. In the same way he seemed suddenly taken with me, I felt taken by him. His smile was so charming that I felt a warm fuzzy feeling wash over me like a warm wave of tingles.
