Costumes Mandatory (Patreon)

[everyone without a costume at a gay bar finds their identity converted into a costume]

[twinkification, muscle growth]

Officer Banks smiled at the costumed men lined up outside the Gold Tooth, a gay bar in the neighborhood he usually patrolled. Drake was bouncing out front in a werewolf costume, with furry ears painted to his hands and a zippered hoodie that looked shaggy with grey fur pulled over his head. He winked as the well-built cop with blue eyes and dimples, bulging out of his uniform, strutted up the sidewalk.

“Evening, Officer,” Drake said, shaking the cop’s thick hand with a glint in his eye. “Happy Halloween! You put on some weight? You’re looking massive!”

Banks shrugged and smiled. He glanced up the line, admiring the cheesy costumes on all of the fit gay men. There were a lot of Barbies and Kens, as well as a number of 300 gladiators (a costume, Banks thought, that would perennially be popular at gay bars), dozens of men in drag as Moira Rose, Cruella De Vil and the like, as well as some ornate cartoon-y characters Banks assumed were from animation he was unfamiliar with. Oh, those gays on Halloween.

“How we doing?” Banks asked Drake. He nodded at the bar. “Packed in there?”

“Close,” Drake said, scratching a lupine ear. “You wanna swing in before we get too full?”

“I think I might,” Banks said with a grin. “I could really use an energy drink. Starting to fade.”

Drake gave a lively werewolf growl as Banks walked in the door. “Careful, Officer! Demetrios said costumes were mandatory tonight!”

Banks walked into the bar. The crowd both parted and focused on him as his heavily muscled form strutted in. He headed toward the bar, gently brushing away curious hands and lewd glances from the thirsty men dressed as cowboys, firemen and Playboy bunnies. Tony, bartending in a store-bought Buzz Lightyear costume, handed a shot to the on-duty cop.

“Working,” Banks said, holding the shot away from his face. “Thanks though.”

“I won’t tell!” Tony said with bright eyes. “Demetrios told me to give it to you!”

Banks looked around. It had been awhile since he’d been in a gay bar since his breakup with his ex, Marcus. It felt nice to be around men treating him like a piece of meat for once, especially with the safety of his uniform to keep a nice boundary between him and any bad decisions. He shrugged and took the shot. It tasted like apples.

“Can I get an energy drink?” Banks said as Tony, always eager to serve the muscular cop, nearly tripped over himself lunging at the cooler where the energy drinks were stored.

Banks burped up some of the apple liquor and grabbed his belly. He felt warm inside and a bit light-headed. Maybe taking the shot was a mistake, he thought as he closed his eyes, momentarily feeling like he was floating.

“That’ll be eleven dollars,” Tony said as he handed over an upturned can in a plastic cup of ice, his demeanor far more cold and dismissive than Banks had ever seen.

“Sorry, I don’t have any cash on me…” Banks said, reaching down to pat his uniform pockets. He gasped when he looked down and saw that his uniform had changed–now a navy-blue vest with a big, gaudy fake badge on the front, short-shorts cut where his legs ended and his ass began, and a nightstick at his side. He fumbled with the oversized hat on his head. It was plastic, something you would buy in a costume store. He looked at himself, confused, as Tony cleared his throat and slapped his hand on the bar.

“I said, ELEVEN DOLLARS, twink,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, there’s a line behind you.”

Banks looked around, suddenly shocked at how big the crowd around him seemed! He only came up to the chests of the men shoving forward, waving cash toward the bartender. He clapped a hand–thin, soft, unfamiliar fingers–over his mouth as he realized that all of his muscle was gone. He was a frail, flimsy little man now. The only mass on his body was in his perky little butt. He felt a hand give his perky buttcheek a squeeze. He tried to shove the hand away, but there was no strength in him anymore.

“O-okay,” Banks said in a high-pitched voice, confused but somehow accepting the reality presented to him. He handed over a twenty, tipped Tony two dollars, and slipped back into the crowd. He still had memories of how his night had begun, of every minute of his shift until he took that shot, but other memories–of getting dressed up with his friends, pre-partying by playing drinking games with sparkling rose, getting into an uber and waiting for nearly an hour in line out front–slid into his brain.

“Andrew, I’ve been looking all over for you!” said his friend Shakar, who was dressed like a scarecrow. Banks blinked–he’d gone by Andy in his civilian life ever since he was 18–but gave Shakar a friendly hug as they reconnected. Somehow, he knew this man he’d never seen before was his friend.

“What’s up? What’s wrong?” Andrew asked. Someone pushing through the crowd shoved him aside, and the skinny twink cop was tossed aside like a rag doll.

“Your ex is here!” Shakar said, his eyes wide.

“Marcus?” Andrew said with a gasp, a frail hand clasping at his smooth, narrow chest. “Where?”

“Behind you,” said a deep voice. Andrew turned slowly to see a man dressed in striped prison garb looming over him, his big arms crossed. Marcus sneered, his five-o-clock shadow making the “jailbird” costume seem even more sinister. He puckered his lips in a kiss.

“Oh my god, Marcus!” Andrew exclaimed as Marcus grabbed his hand, yanking him away from Shakar. He couldn’t believe how huge Marcus was! In the memories he had–of being a big, strong cop–he saw eye-to-eye with Marcus (who was admittedly thicker in the muscles department). Now, he seemed positively gargantuan.

“Fucking so horny for you,” Marcus said, pulling Andrew into a kiss. In one moment, the warmth of Marcus’ rock hard body melted away Andrews inhibitions. He immediately forgot about every transgression of the past year that had led to the end of their relationship. Deep down, he heard the voice of a powerfully built cop telling him that Marcus was no good and should be avoided, but little Andrew wanted nothing more than to be swallowed up by the big man’s arms.

“God I love you,” Andrew said, feeling so small and frail as Marcus forcibly kissed across his chest, up his neck, and then pulled him into a powerful embrace, his rock-hard cock, tenting the striped costume, pressed against Andrew’s leg, emitting its own heat.

“Blow me,” Marcus said. “In the bathroom. Now.”

“Yes sir!” Andrew said as the robber dragged the little cop into the bathroom for the beginning of a passionate night of love-making.

*

Conrad hated taking a break at work. While he’d begged Demtrious to just let him continue his bouncing shift uninterrupted, the boss demanded his staff take a twenty minute break at least once in the night.

“Smoke a cigarette,” Demetrios always urged. “Grab a snack. Drink an energy drink. You work hard! Get off your feet!”

But that twenty minute interruption always made the part of the shift that followed that much harder to stomach. He pushed through the crowd, finally making it behind the bar where he had a protein shake stashed in a cooler.

“You’re the ONLY bouncer not in costume,” Tony said, slapping Conrad’s jeans-clad glutes.

“My costume is ‘roided-out ex-wrestler trying to pay his rent,’” Conrad joked, flexing his massive upper body (stretching his seemingly painted-on XXL “Staff” t-shirt to its limits). He opened the cooler and pulled out his chilled shaker, slurping back some of the cookie-dough flavored liquid inside.

“Demetrios said costumes were mandatory,” Tony repeated, a phrase Conrad had heard a dozen times that night.

Conrad shrugged. “He wants me here to look huge and intimidate people,” the 5’8” brick-shithouse said, making his pecs and biceps bounce through his shirt. “260 pounds of muscle is costume enough!”

Tony laughed. “You know he’s not gonna let you get away with that, right?”

Conrad laughed. “What’s he gonna do, slap a wig on me? Give me cat ears?”

Tony handed over a shot. Conrad held up a hand.

“Nah. I get buzzed, I can’t concentrate.”

“On the house,” Tony urged. “It’ll wake you up, I made sure.”

Conrad ran a hand over his bald head, then looked down at the concoction in the shot glass. He took the shot and grimaced. “It’s like the most sour appletini I’ve ever tasted,” he said, handing the shotglass back. He drank the rest of his protein shake and pushed back out into the crowd. Screw the mandatory 20 minute break, he thought, deciding to just get right back to work instead.

As powerfully thick as he was, it was easy for him to move people aside as he made his way back to the hallway where the bathrooms were. A stocky man dressed as a lumberjack had a bottle of IPA in his hand. Conrad grabbed it away from him.

“Sorry, bud,” Conrad ordered. “No drinks in the bathroom.” He thumbed at the sign behind him.

“The fuck you gonna do about it?” The lumberjack said, grabbing the beer bottle back.

Conrad, suddenly buzzed from his shot, grabbed the lumberjack by his vest. “Well, now that you’ve pissed me off, I’m gonna throw you through the wall.” His huge arms flexed as he prepared to launch the taller man backward. The lumberjack didn’t budge, grinning as Conrad grunted, unable to move him an inch.

“Nice try, pipsqueak,” the lumberjack said, giving Conrad a shove backward. The former college wrestler cried out as he flew through the air, unaccustomed to anyone being able to manhandle his rock-solid body. Something cushioned his fall, however, and he stumbled to his feet again.

When he looked down, however, he saw his t-shirt stuffed with foam. “What the… fuck?” he said, suddenly realizing that the bulges in his shirt were from a padded muscle-suit underneath his shirt. The same was true with his pants, he realized as he waddled around, jeans stuffed with some thick material to make it look like he was thicker than he was.

Somehow, Conrad had gone from a hypermuscular brute to a skinny guy in a muscles-costume. He went pale as the lumberjack grabbed Conrad under the armpits and easily hoisted him into the air. Conrad kicked his skinny legs, terrified by his suddenly helpless state, as the lumberjack shoved him against the wall. If not for his foam-wrapped torso, Conrad would have had the wind knocked out of him.

“What was it you were saying about where I can and can’t drink a beer?” the lumberjack said, dropping Conrad to the ground and spinning his toothpick-thin arm around, wrenching it painfully. He squealed, wincing as those in line laughed at his predicament. “What do we say, guys? Does this wannabe-muscleman deserve a swirlie in the bathroom?”

“No!” Conrad cried out as the lumberjack dragged him into the crowded bathroom, holding him by his skinny ankles above a flushing toilet as his head was lowered in. Through all of his struggles, his silly muscles costume did nothing to add to his feeble resistance.

*

Jared sighed and adjusted his glasses as the bouncer dressed like a werewolf spied his ID. “You’re 25? You look 15,” he said. Jared just shrugged.

“I have other forms,” he said in his reedy, high-pitched voice. “Credit cards, costco card, library card…”

“No, I believe it’s you, you just look really young,” the werewolf said.

“Heard it my whole life,” Jared said. He was thin, 5’6” tall, and when the rest of the boys his age were getting muscles for the first time, he got a bunch of acne and nothing else. He’d turned to books when others started getting into football, and now, the thin, bespectacled young man found himself surrounded by hormone-addled neanderthals–a typical night at a gay bar, certainly, but he yearned to be at home watching anime or playing Warcraft.

“Y’know, the owner really said, ‘costumes mandatory,’” the werewolf said as Jared approached the door. The thin man adjusted his thick glasses and shrugged.

“Do I have to pay extra money, or… am I not allowed?” Jared said, confused.

“No, but if you’re not in a costume, he may put you into one,” the werewolf said with a wink. “Have fun in there!”

Jared, already inside the doors, could barely hear the bouncer over the throbbing house music.

“Who are you supposed to be?” a man in Spider-Man spandex said, angling his bulge in Jared’s direction.

“I’m not wearing a costume,” Jared said.

“Are you supposed to be that guy from Scott Pilgrim?” theorized a blue-bodypaint clad “Genie” who leaned way too close and stunk of Jagermeister. “Scott’s sister’s boyfriend who Wallace steals?”

Jared sighed. “No, I am NOT the guy from Scott Pilgrim,” he said, forcibly yanking his shirt out of the stranger’s grip..

“Great Big Bang Theory costume!” said a scantily clad muscleman with a shoulder length blonde wig and a gaudy sword.

“Nice ATTEMPT at He-Man,” Jared said snarkily, finally arriving at the bar.

“Hey bro, costumes are mandatory tonight!” said the Buzz Lightyear bartender.

“I’ll just have–”

“This,” Buzz said, shoving a shot in his hand. “You gotta do this shot if you don’t have a costume.”

Jared sighed. “Fine,” he said. He took a sip. Was it cider based? He downed the whole shot. “Okay, now I’ll have–”

The bartender had moved on, serving others down the bar. “For fuck’s sake!” Jared said, waving his money. “I wonder if I owe anything for this,” he said, regarding the empty shotglass. He turned around. A shorter man dressed as He-man, this one only as tall as Jared’s chest, stood behind him.

“Damn, popular costume,” Jared said allowed, gasping at the deep rumble from his voice. The shock from the sound was overtaken by the realization that this man was the same He-Man he’d seen before, just… smaller? Still well-built, proportionally the same, but he was more than a head shorter than Jared was.

“NICE nerd costume!” the little He-man said, reaching out and grabbing Jared’s suspenders and giving them snap.

“Where did… I wasn’t wearing…” Jared growled, looking down at the high-water jeans, suspenders, and pocket-protector emblazoned white shirt. His glasses were now plastic and lensless with a thick layer of tape around the nose piece.

The body beneath the costume was even harder to comprehend: Jared’s skinny frame was now filled out with thick, round muscles covered with a light layer of fur. He looked like an ape–no, he looked like a gigantic porn star! In the mirror over the bar, he caught a glimpse of a gigantic, musclebound man in a cheesy nerd costume. He raised a hand. The man in the mirror raised his hand.

These muscles were his.

“What’s it take to get into those nerdy pants?” He-Man said, eyeing Jared’s huge bulge hungrily.

“I dunno, probably, like… equations, or something?” Jared said. His head felt fuzzy. He knew this body was wrong, knew he should know different words, but everything he put together sounded so dopey! He flexed his huge arms, then laughed as he raised his arm and caught a whiff of his hairy musclepit. “Fuck,” he said.

“Smells… good…” the muscular He-Man said, visibly light-headed at the scent now filling the air.

“Get in there, stud,” Jared said, grabbing He-Man by the back of the head and guiding his face into his pit. Fuck, he was so strong… this muscleman felt like nothing in his hands! But of course he was strong. He’d been big all his life, and had made a career from pumping iron, doing steroids, and videoing his muscular body in action.

“Fuck… fuck me tonight, daddy,” He-Man said as he pawed at Jared’s 6’5” 300 pound body.

“Maybe,” Jared said with a sneer, pulling He-Man into a kiss. “Unless I find someone bigger.”