Her Perfect BFF

A few days later, the apartment was filled with the scent of garlic and Parmesan from the pasta Tim had made earlier, small candles flickering on the little white table, and the soft light from the pink lamp casting warm shadows on the clean walls. Tim sat on the chair with his thick legs folded under him, a tiny pink crop top exposing his flat belly and narrow waist, laughing out loud. Eric sat across from him with a big smile and a tight T-shirt that emphasized every muscle, laughing too. Tim demanded to hear the last part of Eric’s story again between bursts of laughter. Eric sighed theatrically, but his eyes sparkled as he repeated it: how Tiffany, during the private session, simply took off her sports bra mid-set, her huge full breasts bouncing out, and said that without the bra she could breathe better and train harder. Tim squealed with laughter and asked if Eric kicked her out. Eric just shrugged and said the room was closed, the door locked, and no one saw except him, so he let it slide. But he said he wondered if Tiffany would try the same trick tomorrow.

Tim bit his lip, eyes big and curious, and asked in a teasing voice what Tiffany’s breasts looked like. Eric smiled a small mischievous smile, said they were pretty good, and that in their previous lives Tim would probably have fought over her to the ****. Tim nodded enthusiastically, cheeks pink, and said he would have loved to be there. And then Eric, without blinking, told him, “So come tomorrow with me?” “What about your work?” Tim asked. “I don’t have a busy day tomorrow. Just Tiffany and a few others, but for you, I’ll make it work.” Tim froze for a moment, looked at him in surprise, debated out loud if it was really a good idea, but Eric just leaned forward, placed a big hand on Tim’s smooth knee, and said in a low confident voice that it was an excellent idea, because that way all the girls there would see who their real competition was. Eric used his other hand to grab one of Tim’s ass cheeks, his fingers sinking into the layer of fat. Tim shuddered and agreed.

The gym’s automatic door opened, and a wave of rhythmic music and sweet sweat smell hit them. Eric entered first, dressed in tight gray sweatpants and a black tank top stretched over his broad chest and huge arms, but all eyes—literally all eyes—immediately locked onto Tim entering behind him like a rolling pink sex bomb. His pants were bubble-pink yoga leggings, thin and shiny, almost sheer in the right places, clinging to every inch of his thick thighs and huge ass as if sewn on him that moment. The fabric stretched so tight over the round cheeks that the back seat disappeared completely between them, exposing the perfect curve of each one, and the material was so thin that with every movement you could see the outline of his tiny panties—or rather, their complete absence. From the front, the leggings were so tight that his small hard cock looked like a cute sweet bulge, and the shiny pink fabric emphasized every slight tremble of his plump thighs as he walked.

Over it he wore a glowing pink crop sports top, so short it ended just under his chest, leaving his entire flat smooth belly, tiny navel, and narrow waist completely exposed. The fabric was stretched so tight over his small chest that his hard pink nipples poked through like two small begging buttons, and the top rode up even more with every step, exposing the bottom of his huge cheeks from below. Tim worried the curse would turn any sneakers he wore into heels, but it seemed the curse understood he was going to the gym with Eric and decided to only slightly alter his shoes. They became white-pink sneakers with a platform sole and thin straps twisting around his thick ankles like gift ribbons. The shoes had tiny drawings of sparkling pink hearts, and the platform made his huge ass lift even higher, jiggling with every step like jelly on a tray. Every step made the leggings stretch further, the nipples tremble through the short pink top, and the huge cheeks bounce in a mesmerizing rhythm. The entire gym went quiet for a moment—weights stopped mid-air, treadmills slowed, eyes widened—and Tim just smiled a sweet-evil smile, locked eyes with Eric, and said in a high clear voice that the whole gym heard: “So this is your workplace. Where do we start?”

The gym was still full of buzzing and clanking, but the air around Tim and Eric was like a vacuum of attention. Eric, though somewhat used to the hungry stares directed at them everywhere, still felt his cheeks warm whenever someone looked too long at Tim’s shiny pink ass. But he knew if it didn’t bother Tim, he had no right to complain. He tried to focus, opened his mouth to suggest an exercise, but before he could get a word out, a sweet familiar voice called him from the side.

“Eric!” Camilla approached them quickly, her long lean body wrapped in tight black leggings and a small gray sports bra that barely covered her big firm breasts, matching her black hair in Tim’s opinion. He whispered to Eric, “Is that Tiffany?” and Eric hurried to answer, “No, that’s Camilla.” She stopped in front of Eric, hugged him hard, her breasts squashing against his chest like two perfect silicone balls, then stepped back and looked at Tim as if someone had slapped her.

Camilla opened her mouth, closed it, then asked in a slightly trembling voice: “And who… who is this?” Eric placed a big possessive hand on Tim’s narrow waist, smiled a wide proud smile, and said: “This is Tim, my boyfriend.” Camilla’s eyes slowly dropped, fixed on the small cute bulge in the pink yoga pants, then shot back up. She said nothing, just stood there with her jaw slightly open. Eric, already used to it, politely asked if it was okay for him to stay with Tim during their private session. Camilla, still in shock, just nodded quickly.

Eric said “Great” and took Tim to the first machine. As they walked away, Tim felt Camilla’s gaze burning into his back—or rather, his ass. He turned slightly, gave her a small teasing glance over his shoulder, and swayed his hips in a slow deliberate motion so the huge cheeks bounced and trembled under the thin shiny leggings. Camilla looked in the mirror and saw her own firm beautiful ass that had once been a source of pride but suddenly looked flat, small, and lifeless compared to the pink monster dancing in front of her.

Tim smiled to himself a small bitchy smile. He knew it wasn’t nice to gloat like that, but something deep inside—maybe the curse, maybe himself—made him feel sweet sharp satisfaction when women envied his ass.

The first machine was a high chest pull. Eric pulled the bar with one hand like it was paper, Camilla did clean sets with respectable weight, her chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. Tim sat down, smiled sweetly, gripped the handles—and the bar didn’t move an inch. He pulled again, all the thin muscles in his arms trembling, his hard nipples poking even more through the short pink top, and his huge cheeks clenching with effort until the thin leggings stretched to complete transparency. In the end he managed to lower the bar one inch, letting out a high trembling moan, and the pink fabric between his legs got slightly wet from the effort and sweet humiliation.

The next machine was chest fly. Camilla closed the handles easily, her breasts pressing together to create a perfect cleavage. Tim sat down, tried to close them—and the handles stayed open like castle gates. He exhaled hot air, his small body trembling all over, his flat belly stretching, and the tiny leggings clinging even more to his small cock that started hardening from frustration. In the end he managed to close them five inches, face red, lips parted in heavy breathing, and his huge cheeks dancing every time he tried again and failed.

Then they moved to shoulders—lateral raises with cables. Eric lifted the weight like feathers, Camilla did smooth sets. Tim gripped the handles, tried to raise them—and the cables barely moved. Every attempt made his thin arms tremble, his small chest rise and fall quickly, and the pink leggings stretch so much that the line of the crack between his cheeks was clear as an arrow. He moaned in a high **** voice every time the cables stayed put, his small body shuddering from effort, his small cock throbbing hard against the thin fabric.

The last machine was lower back extension. Camilla and Eric did perfect sets, their backs straight and strong. Tim sat down, tried to push—and the weight didn’t move. He tried again and again, his whole body trembling, belly sucking in, nipples poking like two small pearls, and his huge ass rising and falling in **** rhythm, the leggings stretching to complete transparency and exposing every inch of his perfect pink skin. In the end he stayed there, panting, cheeks red, small body trembling. He looked at Eric with big wet eyes.

Tim felt real embarrassment for the first time since thinking that feeling had been erased from him forever. He knew he’d lost his muscles because of the curse, but until now he hadn’t realized how weak he’d become. Camilla stood opposite, savoring the moment. “When it comes to body shape, I can’t compete. But in terms of performance, my body is better,” she thought to herself. She thought Tim’s ass was indeed bigger but it was all fat or surgery. Tim wondered if he should stop his workout because there was no point continuing to fail. “Eric…” he said in a weak kitten-wet voice. “I think I’ll take a break.” But Camilla wouldn’t let Tim escape. “Wait, Tim.” she said in a condescending voice. “I have one last exercise in my session and I wanted to do it together. But if you can’t, then I guess Eric and I will manage.”

The last machine was hip thrust, the one where you sit with legs on pads and the pelvis pushes huge weight upward. Eric sat first, back straight, massive thighs spread wide, and his muscular firm ass—two perfect round heavy muscle lumps—rose easily with the bar, the gray sweatpants stretching so much the fabric became almost transparent and revealed every vein and line of his big full cheeks. Every thrust made his ass clench and expand in perfect rhythm, like a living war machine, and the whole gym watched in admiration.

Camilla sat after him, a condescending smile on her lips. She didn’t drop much weight at all, just a little less than Eric, and her smaller firm ass rose easily, cheeks clenching like hard stones, the black leggings stretching tight, and she sent Tim a look of “See, this is how it’s done.” Tim sighed, face red from embarrassment and frustration, sat in her place and prepared for another humiliating failure. He placed his legs, took a deep breath, and lifted his pelvis. The bar flew upward. Like it was a feather.

The trio went silent. Eric froze, Camilla froze, and Tim himself stayed with his mouth open for a moment before his eyes lit up in excitement. “More!” he squealed in a high victorious voice, and Eric, still in shock, added more plates. And more. And more. Every time the weight increased, and Tim’s huge soft ass rose with impossible ease, the massive cheeks clenching like two steel balls wrapped in pink velvet, the thin leggings stretching to complete transparency and revealing the deep muscle beneath, sweat trickling down the crack, and his small cock trembling with every strong backward kick.

When the weight surpassed even Eric’s, Tim finished the last set, stood up from the machine in a smooth sexy motion, his huge ass still trembling from the wild power in it, and turned to Eric. He grabbed him by the neck, pulled him down, and kissed him a deep wet victorious kiss, tongue swirling, a small moan escaping his throat, while his eyes locked on Camilla over Eric’s shoulder with the same wicked, condescending, satisfied look Camilla had given him earlier. Camilla stood there, pale, hands hanging at her sides, eyes fixed on the huge pink ass that had just lifted weight meant to crush any normal person. She tried to smile, but it came out crooked. Because now she knew: that ass wasn’t just fat or surgery. It was a weapon. And she had lost the battle she herself started. She left, and Tim broke the kiss and licked the taste of Eric from his lips. Tim felt it like a sudden revelation—all the strength that had once been in his arms, chest, back, had simply flowed downward and concentrated in the two massive muscle lumps behind him; his ass wasn’t just decoration, it was a pink shiny war machine. He told Eric, “I’m going to train alone, work with your clients!” and ran off lightly, his huge ass bouncing like two giant balls, to every glute-shaping machine in the gym.

First, he got on the rear glute kickback machine. He got on all fours, attached his leg to the cable, and started pushing the leg backward in a high arc, every push lifting his huge ass into the air, the pink cheek clenching like a steel ball wrapped in silk, the thin leggings stretching to complete transparency and revealing the deep muscle beneath, sweat trickling down the crack, and his small cock trembling with every strong backward kick.

Then he moved to barbell hip thrust, lay on the floor with a heavy bar on his pelvis, and lifted his ass upward until his back formed a perfect arch, the huge cheeks stretching like full balloons, the fabric tearing slightly at the sides, and the ass trembling and bouncing every time he locked and released the muscles, looking like two steel balls wrapped in soft velvet.

On the rear abduction machine he knelt, pushed the pad backward with one leg, and his ass moved forward and backward in deep teasing motions, each cheek rising and clenching alternately, the leggings stretching to the limit and exposing the deep pink crack, sweat dripping to the floor, and he let out small sweet moans with every push.

Finally, he got on the squat machine with weight that broke every gym record, went down until his huge ass nearly touched the floor, then exploded upward with impossible ease, cheeks bouncing and trembling, the leggings tearing a bit more at the side, exposing a strip of pink shiny skin, and his small cock already fully hard.

Eric, trying to guide his other clients, nearly dropped the weights every time he saw Tim from afar, his heart pounding like a drum, his cock pressing painfully in his pants, feeling blood boiling in his veins every time that huge pink ass rose, stretched, trembled, and clenched. It was more than just horniness; it was wild possessiveness, deep pride, and desire that wouldn’t let him breathe. The girls beside him talked to him, flirted, touched his arm as always, but he only heard Tim’s small moans, saw only the perfect ass that broke every law of physics and logic. And the women used to Eric not flirting back felt they were getting even less attention today. None of the girls connected that the “woman” with the impossible ass lifting bodybuilder weights was Eric’s infamous boyfriend.

Tim “defeated” every glute machine in the gym, his huge pink ass still vibrating from the insane power, the torn leggings exposing wide strips of sweat-shiny skin, and he returned in swaying proud steps to Eric, who had just finished with his last client. She stood there like a living fantasy: platinum-blonde hair, pale skin, makeup, huge breasts crammed into a white sports bra, nipples poking, her nail polish looking familiar to Tim for some reason, and a big ass that looked choked in blue yoga leggings that left little to the imagination. Though he knew his ass was bigger. In Tim’s previous life, he would have thought she was a goddess. The woman stood close to Eric. Closer than the other clients. One hand resting on his arm, long fingers with polished nails caressing the muscle, her huge breasts nearly squashing against his chest every time she “leaned in a little to hear better.” She was walking sexual harassment. And Tim knew who the woman was. Eric had told him enough stories about her behavior to know it was Tiffany.

Tim approached them with a huge glowing smile, a thin sheen of sweat still glistening on his exposed flat belly, all the muscles in his huge ass still hard as if mid-exercise like two pink shiny bowling balls. “I’m done for today, my love,” he said in a sweet high voice that flowed like syrup, and Eric nodded immediately, eyes sparkling with pride and love. “Me too,” Eric replied. “Just let me sort a few things with Jo and we’ll go.” Tiffany shot Tim a sharp cold glare, gripped Eric’s arm tighter as if marking territory, and asked in a sweet-bitter voice dripping poison: “And who is this beauty?” Like with Camilla, Eric smiled a wide proud smile, placed a big hand on Tim’s narrow waist, and said clearly: “This is Tim, my boyfriend.” Unlike Camilla, Tiffany didn’t back off an inch. She just smiled a fake dangerous smile, said “So nice to meet you” in a tone that could cut glass, and then Tim said politely, “Nice to meet you too.” He turned to Eric and said, “I need the bathroom,” and got quick directions to the trainers’ private restroom. He entered, raised a hand to close the door, and almost succeeded, but at the last moment Tiffany burst in like a blonde tornado, closed the door with her foot, and locked it with a sharp decisive click.

“The bathroom’s occupied,” Tim said in a gentle but firm voice. “Come back later, sweetie.” Tiffany didn’t move. She leaned against the door, arms crossed under her huge breasts, pushing them up until the top nearly tore, and gave him an icy stare. “How exactly did you manage to get Eric?”

Tim blinked, confused for a moment. “We’re childhood friends,” he finally answered, voice soft but confident. “That still doesn’t explain why he’s not into me,” she said in a low deadly voice, every word a knife. Tim shrugged. “You know he’s gay, right?” Tiffany burst into cold condescending laughter. “Please stop with the games. There’s no way in the world you’re a real man.” She stepped closer. “You **** him to say he’s gay so girls wouldn’t hit on him?”

“That’s a pretty stupid idea,” Tim smiled a small sweet smile, “and also not effective considering it didn’t stop you from shooting your shot repeatedly.” He leaned lightly on the sink. “Eric really is gay. Like me.”

Tiffany lost patience and decided to go nuclear. “I’m really sure you’re both gay, and great childhood friends,” sarcasm dripping from her like expensive perfume. “But is your relationship stable and secret-free?” She flashed an early victory smile. “Because I think you should know something I did to your gay boyfriend…”

“You mean the blowjob you gave him in this very room?” Tim answered innocently, as if talking about the weather.

The air left Tiffany at once. All color drained from her perfect face. “How… how do you know?” she whispered.

Tim shrugged, “Eric told me the same day. He said the blowjob was… good, but he still prefers mine.” He tilted his head. “That day was really confusing for both him and me, so I’m not mad he agreed. I’m even glad it was you and not someone else.”

Tiffany raised an eyebrow, still in shock. “Why?”

“Because you have an insane body,” Tim said with complete honesty, then smiled with glee. “It’s just a little less good than mine.” He turned slightly, shook his huge perfect ass in front of her, cheeks bouncing and trembling like pink jelly, the torn leggings exposing even more skin. “Too bad you don’t have a dick,” he added. Tiffany tried to regain control, voice trembling slightly. “You can stop lying now.” Tim rolled his eyes, sighed theatrically, and said, “I can prove I’m telling the truth if you want.” Tiffany wasn’t sure what Tim was about to do but agreed anyway. Tim grabbed the torn pink leggings and pulled them down along with his tiny lace panties to his knees in one smooth sexy motion. His small pink soft cock bounced out, standing proud in the cold fluorescent light, trembling slightly from excitement.

Tiffany froze. Her eyes widened and mouth opened slightly. She leaned back against the door as if her legs stopped working. Tim stood there, hands on narrow hips, huge ass half-exposed, small cock out and proud, without a trace of shame or embarrassment. On the contrary, he felt only deep sharp satisfaction. Because in front of the woman who had once been every man’s wet dream, he now stood like a king, small as he was, and proved to her exactly who was the most beautiful in the kingdom.

Tim stood there, pants and panties down, and looked at Tiffany with an innocent-mischievous gaze. “I really love your polish by the way,” he said in a sweet high voice. Tiffany, still frozen with mouth slightly open, blinked twice and mumbled, “What… what do you mean?” Tim smiled, pointed a small finger at her long nails. “That color… I know it, not sure from where, but it’s so beautiful. It really suits your eyes, gives you this… cold-hot look at the same time.” Tiffany’s cheeks, pale from shock until now, began filling with deep pink. She had received thousands of compliments in her life—on her huge breasts, perfect ass, doll face—but no man had ever complimented her nail polish. She felt heat rising to her neck, cheeks, ears.

Tim continued as if he hadn’t noticed at all. “And your outfit… wow. That bra and the blue leggings? I’m obsessed. Where did you get them? I want some too.” Tim knew very well the curse would happily turn any clothes of his into the stripper kind she wore. Tiffany’s face turned bright red. She tried to stay hostile but her voice trembled a little, and then she saw Tim trying not to laugh. “What’s so funny?” she asked. Tim burst into high rolling laughter and pointed at her. “You! You look like a tomato now!”

Tiffany automatically turned, saw her reflection, and realized he was right. She tried to hold the serious face for one more second, but it broke. She burst into laughter, real high laughter, and put a hand over her mouth. In front of the first man who had managed to make her blush like a high school girl, she simply couldn’t stay cold anymore. She looked at Tim—still half-naked, small cock out, huge smile on his face—and laughed again.

Time lost all meaning in the small ventilated restroom. Tim and Tiffany found themselves sitting opposite each other on the cold floor, their huge fat asses squashed and spread like two pancakes on the tiles. Thanks to Tim’s massive cheeks, they were exactly the same height, their knees almost touching, Tiffany’s legs stretched to the sides to make room for Tim’s perfect ass.

The conversation flowed like good wine. They talked about everything: the reality show they’d both watched and who should have won last season, the cheesiest romantic movies, eyeshadow shades, and how to do contour that lasts hours during a workout. Tiffany showed Tim how to mix different creams for an angelic glow, and Tim wrote down for her a light carbonara recipe on her phone— “no cream, just egg yolk and baked bacon, trust me, my friend gave me this recipe and it’s insane.” Tiffany couldn’t remember the last time she sat like this with someone and just… talked. No poses, no flirting, no proving anything. She felt so free. Like talking to her best friend; it was really strange and really nice at the same time. Tim, for his part, felt like he’d found a sister he didn’t know existed. He’d always loved Lucy, but she never understood his excitement about mini dresses or reality shows. With Tiffany he could talk about it for hours.

At some point, while both were laughing about something completely stupid, Tim looked at her and suddenly realized he was seeing himself. His old version, before the curse. The same person who was sure all his worth was measured by how many people wanted to fuck him. He saw how Tiffany, with all her unbelievable beauty, had built her entire confidence on no man being able to resist her. And Eric was the first who succeeded. The first who said ‘no’ without apologizing. It wasn’t just about Eric; it was about her. About the fear that if someone refused her, it meant she wasn’t good enough.

Tim placed a small gentle hand on Tiffany’s knee. She looked up with her big sparkling eyes. “You know,” he said softly, “Eric didn’t refuse you because you’re not amazing. He refused you because he’s already mine. But that says nothing about you. It just means his heart is taken.” Tears welled in Tiffany’s eyes, she took a deep breath, then smiled a small real smile. “You’re a real nice bitch, you know?” she said in a hoarse voice. Tim laughed and shook his huge ass on the floor. “I know. But you’re not such a bad slut either.”

Both laughed and realized too much time had passed. They stood from the floor with a shared sigh, huge asses rising slowly. Tiffany stood in front of Tim, a wide gentle smile on her full lips, and looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. “I really don’t understand how someone like you exists,” she said softly, “but I’m so glad you do. I hope Eric makes you the happiest in the world.” Tim smiled back. He wanted to tell her about the childhood, the curse, everything, but he stopped himself. He knew she’d probably think he was mocking her. Instead he just said, “Eric and I make each other the happiest in the world.” Tiffany nodded slowly, eyes a little shiny. “I hope I find someone who makes me feel like that too.”

Tim said “The secret is knowing how to kiss really well. Want me to teach you?” and then laughed. But Tiffany didn’t laugh. She just raised an eyebrow, eyes sparkling with real curiosity. “You kiss well?” Something flashed in Tim’s mind suddenly: an old memory, him and Lucy at fifteen, practicing kissing at his house, laughing and embarrassed. The image passed and was replaced by Tiffany’s serious beautiful gaze. He wasn’t sure if it was the curse’s urge or just wanting to help a new friend, but before he could think too much, he wrapped his thin arms around her neck, Tiffany bent slightly to reach his height, and their lips met.

It wasn’t a wild passionate kiss like with Eric. It was something gentle, sweet, almost educational. Tim started slowly, soft lips touching full lips, rubbing them gently, then opened his mouth a little, his small warm tongue sliding along Tiffany’s lower lip, caressing it, pulling it in. Tiffany shuddered lightly, breathed deeply through her nose, and he felt it, continued guiding her: tongue swirling slowly, soft, circular, touching the tip of hers, pulling it into a slow wet dance. One hand rose to her nape, slender fingers playing in the platinum-blonde hair, the other stayed on her narrow waist, caressing gently over the thin fabric. The kiss was long, warm, full of sweet saliva and the scent of mascara and light sweat, but not sexual at all; Tim’s cock stayed completely soft, limp and wilted, but his heart was full of the warmth of helping a friend. When he slowly broke the kiss, their lips parting with a thin thread of saliva, Tiffany stood completely stunned, eyes wide open, cheeks flushed, breathing heavy. She touched her lips as if checking they were still there. Tim figured he’d done a good job and was happy. He wasn’t sure if he really knew how to kiss well or if his kisses were only good with Eric. But he did know he had a lot of experience with them.

“Wow…” she whispered. “It’s a huge luck I’m also into girls.” She smiled a big embarrassed smile. “Can… can we practice this again sometime?” Tim laughed, pulled his small pink phone from his bag, and held it out to her. “Give me your number, we’ll schedule.” They exchanged numbers, huge smiles on both beautiful faces, and the restroom door opened again to the world.

Tim and Tiffany parted outside, and then Tim saw Eric standing to the side waiting for him, arms crossed, eyebrow raised in amusement. With a huge pink smile on his face, hair a little messy, lipstick slightly smudged, and his huge ass still bouncing in happy rhythm, Tim walked toward him in an exaggerated deliberate strut, every step slow and swaying, hips rolling, huge cheeks jumping up and down. He stopped in front of Eric, hands on narrow hips, smiled a big mischievous smile, and said in a sweet-teasing voice: “Too bad you didn’t come in and watch… it was hot.” Eric burst into low laughter, pulled him close with one strong arm, and pressed him to his broad chest. “I saw Tiffany go in after you, but I thought you didn’t want to be disturbed while you were… ‘handling things.’” He stroked Tim’s huge ass with a big hand. “So, what exactly did you two do in there for so long?” Tim looked up with an innocent-evil gaze, biting his lips, and answered in a sweet-deadly voice: “I cheated on you with Tiffany.”

“Not seriously, what did you do in there?”