Bear Den

The Hammock

You had come into the Foundation for Transformation looking for something simple. You were usually so happy with your body and who you were in general, but when your friend had suddenly changed to a seven feet tall, twice as bulky, and chiseled adonis, you began to rethink such policies. He was now brash, loud, cocky, and easily stole every girl in the room. You were startled by the change in your friend’s personality, even a bit worried, but a larger part of you was admittedly jealous. You knew that if you were going to keep up with him, something had to change.

I was at the front desk as per usual when you came in. You were so timid and hesitant. It was clear that you didn’t really know why you were here or what you wanted. It did my heart good to hear you simply mumble something about, “carrying your weight better,” whatever that meant. You looked fine, but that didn’t matter. You’d given me just the excuse to try out an old favorite of mine.

I led you through the halls of the Foundation as I do with every customer that comes here, all the while explaining the dominance of the T.G.F.T. in its field and doing a proper job of adding hype as part of the Foundation experience before we arrived at our destination. I opened a door to reveal a small, peaceful forest. You marveled for a moment peculiarity of a forest being behind a benign office door, but I quickly ushered you in towards the single hammock hanging between two trees straight ahead. I told you lie down in it. You acquiesced.

It was there that I told you the true nature of the Foundation, a sort of museum for life’s oddities. The hammock you were then lying on, for instance, was collected from a small retirement home on the fringes of society in the backwoods of America. Families would send their old, elderly relatives there with little regard for what happened to them, and the employees of the home often suffered the same fate after living amongst the old folks for so long. Being such a long way from the rest of society, they would be disregarded by the friends, and even families, due to how long they’d been without contact, and that’s why nobody would notice the changes.

The hammock had been a bizarre little hot spot of the retirement home. The old folks would often rest on it or take long naps there, but due to the relaxed and rather boring nature of working there, the employees would often slack off on it as well. The changes were subtle at first. Firstly, it seemed that the old folks possessed a bizarre sort of longevity. Long-term cigar smokers and alcoholics of advanced age frequently saw through to their hundredth birthdays without looking to be a day older than sixty. They wouldn’t put down their unhealthy habits either, going so far as eating irresponsible portions at every meal and spending all day sloughing off in that hammock, yet they never seemed to grow any less fit than they had been when they had arrived.

Secondly, the employees suffered their own unique changes. A youthful staff of young men slowly began to look more worn. Each of them were no older than thirty, yet it seemed the job aged each of them by at least ten years within a week of starting. Though the job was easier than any they had previously worked, they’d find wrinkles taking hold on their youthful faces. Their hair would gray, whiten, and then wither away in a matter of days. A man could be hired on in peak physical health, bearing chiseled muscle, comparable of Ancient Grecian sculpture, and manage to lose it to a debilitating layer of fat within a matter of weeks. One employee joined the staff fresh from the military with habits of near religious fervor concerning exercise and a clean face. Within a week he had a belly twice the size of a pumpkin and a frizzy, gray beard that stretched down to meet it.

None of the men could explain the changes. None of them bothered. None of them noticed that the staff members that spent breaks on the hammock were affected worse than the rest, yet even if their exponentially declining decrepit, feeble minds could connect the two variables together, none of them would’ve cared much. Along with the lack of ability to focus on or remember nearly anything, their thoughts were constantly clouded by the lackadaisical desire to doze off or laze about.

You scoffed when I told you that the old folks were caring for the staff more than the other way around by the time we eventually collected the hammock. You dismissed the story as some sort of pitch, though you couldn’t quite figure out why a story about such abnormal events served as a spiel. In fact, you were having a hard time figuring out about anything at that moment. You couldn’t remember quite where you were or how you got there. A haze had slowly entered your mind, and now you sat up in the hammock with sudden confusion. Your dazed eyes clearly conveying alarm and practically pleaded for an explanation from me, though you couldn’t quite remember who I was at that point either, and I chuckled to see you in such a pathetic state.

You had listened so intently to my story that you hadn’t even noticed when your body had begun to change. You didn’t feel the skin on your face grow slack, profusely wrinkling around the eyes and mouth. You didn’t see your belly expanding to fully fill out the shirt you were wearing before eventually tearing the article from your body, purely through the immense pressure of your exponentially growing stomach. Your pectorals sagged to match, two blubbery deposits of fat settled atop the main repository of flab. The healthy crop of hazel hair on your scalp changed like autumn leaves, turning grayer and grayer before a majority of it fell away in a light breeze. Your facial hair underwent a similar monochromatization, growing a dirty white, yet none of it gave way. Instead, the beard grew fuller than ever and overtook the lower half of your face before brushing up against your degenerate chest.

I barely had a chance to tell you that you were now a part of the Foundation, a helpless victim of the hammock’s debilitating powers, before a foul smell reached my nose. I smirked as you startled at the scent, sitting bolt upright and eyes going wide. You took several pointed sniffs before your attention was directed to the rear of your newly acquired slacks, much more befitting of your advanced age and courtesy of the hammock. A warmth emitted from under your bottom that served to inform your dull mind that you had relinquished control of your bowels without intending to, and upon adjusting in your seat, you came to realize that the strange crinkling sound you were hearing was coming from your ass. A pair of incontinence briefs retained the bodily emission to your person.

A part of you was disgusted by this prospect. Though you didn’t truly even know who you were anymore, it felt wrong to think that you lacked such intimate control over your body or that you required such humiliating protection. All the while though, an increasingly larger and more dominant part of yourself reveled in the notion. You were just a dirty old man, there was no need for such a fuss as to going to the bathroom. That’s why you wore the briefs. You could just keep relaxing in your hammock, not even bothering to get up, and with the hefty suspenders your wore, multiple messy excretions could be carried about in the seat of your disposable drawers without there being a worry of losing your pants due to the weight. A fat slob like you had to think several steps ahead if he was going to properly laze about, after all. You liked things simple.

Image source: https://justmanlust2.tumblr.com/post/179545950954

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