X-Dream Makeover - 1. David

Mr. Lee watched with amusement through the front window of his shop. How many customers had he seen over the years exhibiting exactly the same behavior?

First, there was the double-checking of the address. Mr. Lee's shop was on the fringes of Chinatown in San Francisco. Mr. Lee should have relocated somewhere nearer the Castro years ago if he'd been thinking about his primary clientele. But money had never been a major concern for Mr. Lee and, by the time he seriously considered a move, real-estate prices were beyond absurd. Fortunately he had already made a mutually beneficial arrangement with his current landlord and was now guaranteed occupancy of this tiny shop for the rest of his life.

Tell-tale sign number two of a new customer: the furtive glancing through the window while trying to make it look like you weren't. Today's young man was less adept than some, as he let his eyes linger for several moments, hoping to see exactly what was inside. But not much could be seen through the dirt-streaked window, and no sign or window painting identified the business within. This was intentional on Mr. Lee's part. He hoped to attract only those people who sought out his services due to word-of-mouth. If his shop looked run-down or even out of business, it was less likely to lure in the tourist crowd. Someone whose idea of vacation fun was riding a cable car likely wasn't prepared for what Mr. Lee had to offer.

Third came the dithering, at which the current resident of the sidewalk was excelling. The more fantastical the stories they had heard, the more hesitant new clients were to go through with the experience, yet they wouldn't have made it all the way to Mr. Lee's doorstep if something deep down weren't compelling them to come here. As a result, Mr. Lee didn't see many people who walked in the door confident and content with their lives.

Finally came the moment of decision. Mr. Lee estimated that sixty percent of those who made it this far "chickened out", at least on their first visit. One gentleman executed steps one through three every lunch hour for two months before finally crossing Mr. Lee's threshold, but, like most people, when he finally got the courage to go inside, the move was quick and decisive, like a skydiver committing to take that long and risky step out of a perfectly safe airplane.

Mr. Lee had this kid pegged as one of the sixty percent who walk away. A snarl of red curls, untrimmed in months, dwarfed his pallid, gaunt face. A beaky nose protruded below close-set pale green eyes. His thin lips were held in a tight grimace between his sunken cheeks. His chin was little more than a speed bump on the receding slope from his lips to his neck, where his prominent Adam's apple formed a giant outcropping. His slim shoulders provided a barely adequate coathanger for his sagging gray hoodie. The hoodie offered some illusion of bulk on his sickly frame, but the truth was revealed by the spindly twigs extending below his khaki shorts. His bony hands seemed disproportionately large, as if they might make up a third of his weight, with the big feet in his Birkenstocks making up a further third. As he continued to hem and haw, the young man pretended to make a call on his iPhone, but even someone as lacking in tech savvy as the ancient Mr. Lee knew the ear hole went up by the ear.

But the kid surprised Mr. Lee by lowering his head and making a beeline toward the door. He grabbed the knob and tried pulling several times, growing more and more exasperated until he noticed the word "PUSH" on the dusty door. As he swung the creaking door open, the breeze triggered a delicate clinking from a set of wind chimes. Once inside, the kid glanced back outside to make sure no one had seen him enter, then quickly slammed the door behind him. Mr. Lee tucked his lunch of a Whopper Jr. and a Mello Yello underneath the counter, to preserve his "old world" mystique.

"Welcome, young man," said Mr. Lee, playing up the remnants of his accent for effect. "How can I help you today?"

The young man swallowed, drawing Mr. Lee's eyes to the gigantic bobbing Adam's apple. His skin was so pale that Mr. Lee imagined that, if he handed his soda to the kid, you could actually watch the yellow liquid as it passed through his throat. Mr. Lee realized that this boy must be older than he originally thought, probably in his late twenties, but with his spindly frame and awkward body language, he seemed like a fifteen-year-old who'd been stretched out on a rack.

The newcomer cleared his throat and rambled. "I, uh, a friend told me...well, not really a friend, but this guy...I mean, hopefully he'll be my friend, but that's not...what he said was that you...helped him to, um...you gave him..."

"I do makeovers," said Mr. Lee, exuding serenity.

The young man relaxed a tiny bit, his shoulders sagging even further. "Oh, cool, so this is the right place."

Mr. Lee pointed to a stack of business cards on his countertop. They read "MR. LEE, X-DREAM MAKEOVERS", followed by the equivalent in Cantonese.

"So, um, exactly how does this work...exactly?"

"You tell me what you want to change, and we agree on a price you are willing to pay."

"Oh, well, the price shouldn't be a problem. I work for this tech company...well, worked...I just cashed out my stocks and..." He blushed with embarrassment and disbelief. "I kinda got a lot of money now."

"And you find that money is not enough to solve your problems."

"Yeah, no. There's only so much shit...I mean, stuff you can buy. Sorry"

"Relax, David, I have heard 'shit' before."

"Oh, yeah, I suppose..." The young man stopped suddenly. "How did you know my name was David?"

Mr. Lee just grinned. "A lucky guess. So what is it you wish to have that your money cannot buy you?"

David paused, fearing that what he was about to say would sound incredibly shallow and stupid. "I just want...to be cool."

"But with your money, surely you could buy a beautiful house and and an expensive car and fine clothes. My understanding is that such things can do wonders to make one appear 'cool' to the ladies."

David's eyes looked to the dusty floor. Crossing one ankle behind the other and digging his hands deep into the pockets of his khakis, David spoke bashfully. "I'm not really trying to look cool for the ladies."

Mr. Lee said, "Ahhh", as if this were a revelation. The less comfortable the new customer, the more it seemed to help if Mr. Lee acted like their sexual orientation was not blatantly obvious from the moment they appeared outside his window. In fact, Mr. Lee had many special gifts of perception, such as knowing without asking that the young man's name was David. But if he displayed too much intimate knowledge about the customer, it sometimes spooked them. He tried to reveal just enough of his power to establish his bona fides as a worker of wonders without creeping out potential customers.

"Men do not also like your cool things?"

"Oh, they like my stuff okay. They're just not too thrilled about this." He made a flailing gesture to indicate everything about himself.

"So what would it take for you to be 'cool'?"

David stuck a hand into the front pocket of his hoodie and nervously handed a folded and wrinkly piece of paper. Mr. Lee gently unfolded this piece of shoddy origami. The paper had been folded and unfolded so many times that it threatened to fall apart at the creases, and the rumpled texture suggested that it had often been crumpled up and hidden in a hurry. Mr. Lee found himself staring at a magazine page full of advertisements for dildos, lube and butt plugs. He handed the paper back to David.

"I am sorry. I do not sell these here."

David looked at the ads and, red-faced, turned the sheet over and laid it on the countertop, smoothing out the creases.

Mr. Lee had known he was looking at the wrong side of the page the whole time. When you've been doing something as long as Mr. Lee, it becomes inevitable that you start to fuck around with the clientele, just to keep it interesting for yourself. Mr. Lee took a good look at the full-color photo which filled the proper side of the paper. A stunningly handsome and musclebound man stood in a garage wearing nothing but a fireman's hat cocked on his head, a firehose slung over one shoulder and unbuckled rubber boots on his feet. His body was tanned over its entire surface, with soot marks on his cheek and torso. His skin appeared to be slick with oil, which would seem to be a hazard in the middle of a fire. So would the man's flaccid ten-inch cock dangling between his legs, although, in an emergency, at least that could function as a back-up hose.

"You wish to look like this man?"

David nodded. The way he was shaking with nerves, it's almost like his whole body was nodding.

Behind Mr. Lee, shelves from floor to ceiling held glass jars full of mysterious substances and labeled in Chinese. Mr. Lee gestured to his inventory. "But unfortunately for you, I do not have this man's body to sell you."

"Oh. Okay, then. Well, thank you." David meekly took the paper back, stuffed it in his pocket and started to walk back to the door.

"David, stop."

David's body stopped abruptly, nearly toppling forward, as if Mr. Lee's very word had caused his body to halt mid-motion. He regained his balance and looked back as the elderly man brushed his fingers through his mustache.

"I only said I could not give you THAT body. I did not say I could not make you, as you say, 'cool'."

David walked tentatively back toward the counter. "So I could look KINDA like that?"

"I will give you a new body. I can even give you clothes, which the man in your magazine seemingly cannot afford to buy."

David laughed, covering his mouth to contain his joy. "That would be excellent. So how much money will it cost?"

"I have no need for your money."

"Holy shit, you mean it's free?"

"No, David. In exchange for what you want, you must give me something I need."

David pondered the possibilities. "Let's see. I've got a 70-inch 3D HDTV with the latest XBOX, but I don't suppose..."

Mr. Lee shook his head.

"Yeah, I didn't figure you were into that. Solar car?"

Mr. Lee dismissed this suggestion. "And pay to park it in San Francisco? David, I do not need your material possessions. What I need are raw materials!" He gestured to the wall of glass jars again. "These are the ingredients for my transformations, and they are always in need of replenishment." He pulled one jar down from a shelf and set it on the countertop.

David peered through the glass at a reddish powder. "What is that?"

"That is strength. Previous customers have given me some of their strength in exchange for whatever quality they needed more. You want me to give you strength, of which you feel you do not have enough, so you must give me something of which you have too much."

With a hopeful half-smile, David remarked, "I don't suppose you have a lotta people coming in here saying they need more insecurity. I got tons of that."

Mr. Lee grinned sympathetically and pondered the matter. "You say you are not working?"

"Yeah, I sold all my stock. I can probably live off it the rest of my life, unless I get really stupid, "

"Then we will not make you really stupid. Perhaps just a little."

David didn't like the sound of this. "Wait a minute. You want to make me dumb?"

Mr. Lee spoke soothingly. "No, not dumb. But if you are not working any longer, perhaps you do not need as much of your intellect as you did before? Your naked fireman, you wished to be like him, yet he probably does not have a PhD from Stanford, am I right?"

"How did you know I have a PhD from...?" David was finding all of this seriously eerie, but the thought of becoming a stud like "Smokin' Joe" from "Bros Before Hose" magazine had hardened his cock to its full four inches. David's long fingers idly stroked his penis through the cloth of his pants pocket as he mulled this decision. "I'm not gonna drool or forget how to count or something?"

"Not unless that is what you want," said Mr. Lee. He walked to the shelves and brought over two more jars. He opened the lid of one which seemed to contain potpourri. David found its floral scent entrancing. "That is for beauty. I will use that to refashion your face." He closed the lid quickly so it wouldn't lose its potency. The other jar was nearly empty. Circling around its base was a thick silvery substance, clinging together like drops of mercury. "And this is intelligence. As you can see, my supply is low, so I would be very eager to restock with some of your surplus."

David started to reason out loud. "Well, I do tend to overthink things. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to not be so 'inside my head' all the time."

Feeling he was close to a sale, Mr. Lee reached back for another container, this one half-full with a dark brown powder, like instant coffee. "Self-confidence. I will throw it in for free."

David took a deep breath and said, "It's a deal." He offered his hand to Mr. Lee, who merely raised his palms into the air. Mysteriously, the room dimmed. Light even stopped streaming through the front door and window, as if the grime on the glass had suddenly become opaque. The only illumination came from a spotlight behind Mr. Lee which lit David's entire body. David looked around uneasily. "Uh, what do I do now?"

"First I must take my payment. I learned long ago that if I wait until after I have given you what you want, you might resist giving me what I want."

"That makes sense. But how can I be sure you'll give me what I want after you've taken what you want?"

"You are so full of questions, young David. You won't have to worry about that much longer."

Suddenly, David felt a suction that made his ears pop, as if his brain had been hooked to a vacuum cleaner. He clutched the sides of his head in agony, grit his teeth and slammed his eyes shut. If his eyes had been open, he could have noticed tiny particles, like specks of dust, floating through the air in the spotlight, en route to the jar Mr. Lee was holding open. Upon reaching the jar, they condensed into liquid form and the level of the contents of the jar started to rise.

David felt light-headed, like after a few beers. Hang on. Beers? He never drank. Drinking was a stupid waste of time and brain cells. Ha! Like he had brain cells to waste. He struggled to remember: had he even gone to college?

Dave heard a friendly voice. "How are you feeling, David?"

"Awesome, dude. How're you?"

"I'm fine. Just keep your eyes closed."

"Excellent!"

Mr. Lee looked at the jar of intelligence, which was now nearly half-full, and worried that he might have taken too much. Well, he thought, I can always give some back if I need to. He put on leather gloves and dug a scoop into the jar of strength. He walked from behind the counter, dragging a stepladder behind him.

"I need you to take off your shirt and drop your pants, okay?"

With a dopey smile, David pulled the hoodie over his head, tangling his arms in the sleeves before eventually extricating himself. He unbuckled his belt and let his shorts fall to the floor with a thud. His frail body seemed at odds with the doofusy voice with which he was now speaking. His right hand absent-mindedly latched onto the short but rigid lump in his underpants.

The ladder squeaked against the floor as Mr. Lee pulled it into position beside David. Mr. Lee climbed to the top step and began to sprinkle the red strength powder onto David's shoulders. It cascaded downward, covering his sunken chest, his small flabby belly, his starkly visible ribcage. David let out a throaty guffaw. "Tickles!", he said with a shiver.

Mr. Lee stepped down from the ladder and tossed powder against David's legs until they were covered, then pulled on the elastic at the front of David's underwear and dumped in half a scoop. Mr. Lee walked back to the counter, studied the photo of the fireman, then walked over and gave David's crotch another half scoop for good measure. One final dusting down the rear of his underpants and phase two was complete.

"You still doing okay, David?"

"Sure thing, bro-seph. And call me Dave."

That kicked in fast, thought Mr. Lee. He quickly grabbed the jar of beauty potpourri and held it beneath Dave's nose to give him a whiff. Dave's nose twitched. He tried to resist but finally unleashed a massive sneeze, which stirred up the potpourri, enveloping Dave's face in the wondrous scent. Mr. Lee ducked to avoid the cloud of dust that the sneeze had stirred up. He set the jar on the counter and stood back to watch what happened next.

Dave's shoulders began to ache. His right hand stayed wrapped around his cock, but he reached up his left hand to rub his shoulder. Damn, his arms were hurting too. Did he push himself too hard at the gym? He rubbed his eyes and opened them, noticing a full-length mirror of the otherwise darkened room. He felt sad upon seeing his reflection and its evidence that he was just a dumb scrawny geek who never worked out. He was pretty sure he didn't work either, but his memories were fuzzy. He vaguely remembered quitting a job, and it seemed like he had some money in the bank, but beyond that it was all a blur. No wonder he didn't have a job, he thought to himself, if he was too dumb to remember if he even had one.

He glanced down at his body and wondered why it was covered with red shit. He saw some on his fingers and dabbed it to his tongue for a taste. Mr. Lee felt like rushing forward and telling him to stop, but he didn't want to distract Dave during this critical phase of the process.

When Dave tasted the powder, it was disgusting, but it caused a tingling in his tongue, not unlike the one that was now spreading through the rest of his body. It was like he had a generator in his heart that was sending electricity out to his limbs. He rolled his neck and could hear bones crunching against each other. With each breath, he felt more pumped. Glancing down, he saw pancake-sized pecs and a slight groove leading down from them toward his crotch. His lanky arms still hung feebly at his side, but he bunched his fists together as a growing intensity overtook him.

The pounding he had felt in his head was gone, but now his bones began to throb, like a toothache, only everywhere. He pressed his teeth together and let out a fierce growl, hoping it would ease his pain, but a fire continued in his muscles and joints and now his face was becoming numb. He looked across the room at another guy in his underwear going through similar agony. Wait, it was that mirror again. Shit, that dude is me! Hadn't he been a geek the last time he looked? He was still coated with that weird red shit, but he looked more pumped. His shoulder muscles definitely bulged out, narrowing to sleek biceps, but his forearms were still scrawny. Similarly, his quads broadened impressively out of his tighter-than-usual tighty whities, but his calves remained twiglike. He rubbed his fingers across welts on his stomach, only to find them hard to the touch. Was he getting honest-to-god abs? The thought made him smile, and the gleam of this teeth in the mirror caught his notice. He didn't remember getting a haircut lately, but his bush of hair looked a lot shorter now, and darker too.

One more wave of energy rippled through him, knocking him to his knees. His shoulders stretched outward and his torso thickened, until only a pleasing trace of his ribs was visible and his proportions took on a defined V. He could feel his suddenly rounded calves pop against the back of his thighs, and a rush of pleasure spread through him as his cock almost instantaneously doubled in size. His hands were now sinewy at the end of beefy forearms. Oddly, even his tongue felt fatter. He didn't know that was a muscle you could build. He wondered how much he could tongue-press. As the wave of euphoria subsided, Dave slumped onto the floor.

"How do you feel, Dave?", came a voice from the darkness. Shit, Dave suddenly remembered that there was somebody else here, but he couldn't remember who it was. Dave realized he couldn't even remember exactly WHERE he was.

"Look in the mirror and tell me what you think," said the voice.

Dave found it impossible to ignore the voice. He struggled to his hands and knees, then stood up fully on his legs, kicking his feet free of the khakis wrapped around his feet and leaving his tattered sandals behind.

Mr. Lee was pleased with the wonders his magic had worked. If anything, David would now be the firefighter's wet dream. His frail body hadn't grown more than a couple inches in height, but his bones and muscles had gained in size to turn him into a flawless physical specimen. His legs were thick with hair, as was his pubic region, but his chest, abs and back were vast expanses of tanned and hairless skin. His tight curly hair was trimmed close on the sides over smouldering heavy-lidded eyes. His nose was now sleek yet masculine, and plump wide lips were surrounded by a dusting of stubble on his chiseled cheeks and jaw.

Yet Dave was looking into the mirror critically, with a look of disappointment. "Fuck, who's ever gonna date a guy who looks like me?"

Mr. Lee was taken aback by the absurdity of this remark, then had a sudden realization. "I forgot the self-confidence!" He rushed to the counter, inserted a spoon into the dark crystals, then carried it across the room. He held it up to Dave's mouth, but Dave held his lips tightly closed and backed away. "Just try it," urged Mr. Lee. "You'll like it, I promise."

Dave held his mouth shut stubbornly, like a three-year-old, so Mr. Lee commanded him, "Open your mouth."

Mr. Lee's powers of mind control overcame Dave's resistance. His mouth dropped open and Mr. Lee shoveled in the potent granules. Dave thought they tasted nasty, clinging to his pumped tongue, but as they began to trickle down his throat, he had a sense of calm and well-being.

Mr. Lee waited a minute, then told Dave, "Look in the mirror now."

Dave turned back to his reflection. He loved what he saw. He turned in profile to check out his firm rounded ass which his briefs were straining to contain. He raised his arms in a double-biceps pose and smiled fiercely. "That's what I'm talkin' about! Fuckin' A!"

Mr. Lee stepped behind the counter and began reshelving his inventory. As Dave continued to pose delightedly for himself, Mr. Lee decided that any more intelligence would probably just get in the way. The silvery liquid sloshed inside its jar as Mr. Lee replaced it on the shelf.

The lights in the shop rose and sunlight began to seep through the windows again. Mr. Lee pushed the mirror aside and parted a curtain leading into a back room with racks and racks of clothes. Mr. Lee gestured to a specific area which had clothes in Dave's size. "Pick out a free set of clothes to get you started. And don't go too crazy buying new clothes after you leave here." Mr. Lee carefully hung David's old hoodie and khaki shorts on hangers. Someday, they would be the right size for a future customer, just as all the clothes now hanging in the dressing room were left behind after previous transformations.

Dave's eyes lit up at the options hanging before him. At first he was drawn to a simple pair of ripped jeans and a white t-shirt. Maybe paired with the letter jacket hanging nearby. Nah, he didn't want to cover up his guns like that. Why hide a body as awesome as his? He squeezed into some black leather pants with a matching vest. Damn, the outline of his nine-inch cock looked great, but wouldn't it be too much of a hassle to get them on and off quickly? Maybe just a tank and some shorts. Wait...was that an SFFD uniform? He reached over and held a t-shirt bearing the logo of the San Francisco Fire Department in front of him. He pulled on the shirt, then checked himself out in the mirror. The shirt was a size too small for him, which just made the heft of his muscles look that much more impressive. The ends of the sleeves were pushed up by his bulging biceps. Something stirred in him. "Am I a fireman?", he wondered. He couldn't say he remembered ever fighting a fire, and yet the idea felt somehow right. His confidence swelled as he thought about saving people's lives for a living. Better than just sitting around doing nothing.

The tinkling of chimes by the front door caught Mr. Lee's attention. He instructed Dave that, whenever he found the outfit he liked, he could just let himself out the back. As Dave pulled on the fireman's jacket, he became so enamored with himself that he barely heard Mr. Lee. He just mumbled a dull "Thanks" and yanked on a pair of fireman's pants. He could already envision himself with some smudges of soot on his face. Body covered in sweat. Taking a shower with the other firemen. Dave grinned at his reflection. "Shit," he thought, "I'd fuck me."

Mr. Lee closed the curtain, moved the mirror back into place and turned his attention to the new customer, who was pacing nervously inside the doorway.

Damn, Mr. Lee thought, the way today was going, he would never finish his lunch.