Hotel Mix-Up

It was immediately clear to Danny Amendola that the portly guy behind the hotel’s front desk was a little starstruck by him. Danny read his nametag (“Brewster”) and made sure to use his name when he thanked him. If this Brewster was a fan, it was important to Danny to make his day, no matter how exhausted the NFL player felt.

“Uh, yes, sir… uh, let’s just say… it’s an honor, uh, to have you…”

Curly-haired Brewster stammered as Danny waited for the room key, but he never seemed to reach the end of his sentence. Danny turned around and grabbed one of his smaller suitcases, hoisting it up and holding it on his shoulder as a cue to the hotelier that it was time to move on from this interaction. By the way Brewster’s eyes lit up at the sight of Danny bending over, it was clear he was more than just a sports fan.

Danny wasn’t bothered by Brewster’s attention, or the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He was just tired, and wanted to go to bed more than anything.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Danny said, “but if I don’t get some sleep soon, I may pass out standing up.”

Brewster seemed twice as flustered at that. “Yes sir, oh god, yes. Right away, sir…” he fumbled around for the room keycards, finally pulling one out and handing it over. “Oh gosh, so sorry to keep you, it’s just…”

Danny pulled a receipt from his pocket and flipped it over, signing his name. “Here you go. A little treat for you,” he said with a wink. Now Brewster looked like the one about to pass out. “Thanks a bunch,” Danny said, trudging away with the room key in hand.

Danny could barely keep his eyes open as the hotel elevator doors shut. He slapped his own head a few times. “C’mon, buddy, almost there,” he said, finally arriving on the right floor. The keycard said 809. Danny passed by the room twice, so physically wiped he could barely see the numbers clearly. As the door lock buzzed, he shoved it open and tossed his suitcases on the ground. Without turning the light on he headed straight for the bed, passing out face first in it. The NFL star was too fatigued to notice the bed wasn’t made, or the fact that he kicked someone else’s suitcase out of the way as he entered the room.

*

Danny felt like he was hungover. He let out a loud belch, wincing at the putrid stink of it. “Fuck,” he thought. “How much did I drink last night?”

He hadn’t had anything to drink. After a grueling series of flights, he had gone straight to bed… and yet he somehow had the taste of booze in his mouth.

He heard his stomach gurgling and reached down to pat it–but he was shocked to find a furry paunch where his rippling abdomen should have been. The NFL star shot up. The room started spinning, however, and he had to hold his head between his knees to keep from throwing up.

“Why am I… so sick…” he moaned. As his eyes focused, he realized the feet he was staring at were stumpy and covered with black hair–and he had cankles! Using the nightstand to brace himself, he forced himself to his feet.

He cried out in horror at what he saw.

His shredded wide receiver body, in peak human performance shape at all times, was gone. Instead, he looked at a big, burly body. A thick layer of flab covered up a barrel-shaped body. He looked closer to a retired lineman. He couldn’t stop staring at the firm belly sticking straight out, obscuring his view of his own dick now.

Danny lumbered into the bathroom to see a complete stranger in the mirror. He had a thick brown mullet, a handlebar moustache, and heavy bags under his eyes. Everything about the hotel bathroom seemed too small to Danny. It took him some time to realize he was actually much taller than he was supposed to be.

“The fuck… who is this…” he said in a scratchy, unfamiliar voice. Still testing the limits of this unfamiliar body, he flexed an arm. The large, round biceps was a somewhat comforting image. He patted the brawny limb, recognizing that it was bigger than his arms had been before.

Still in a daze, Danny walked in sloppy zig-zags toward the chair in front of the television. His heavy body collapsed into it. He burped again, clearly tasting a mixture of whiskey and vomit. Whoever this guy was, he’d had a lot of booze last night.

“My phone,” he suddenly thought after a solid half-hour of lolling uselessly in the chair. “Fuck, I need some coffee,” he said as he felt a hangover starting to set in. With some effort he pried his beefy body out of the chair. He felt like a juggernaut as his wide, thick body bashed into the table and the suitcases lying around. “Fuck,” he whimpered as he smacked his head on the kitchenette’s counter while bending down to grab his suitcase on the ground.

A loud buzz made his oversized heart pound in his burly chest. He stumbled toward the door, unsure if he should open it. Before he made up his mind, it opened anyway.

“Oh, goodness!” It was Brewster. The hotel clerk waved a hand in front of his face as the stench of the room hit him.

“You!” Danny said. “You gave me the wrong key last night.”

Brewster cocked his head to the side. “No, I accidentally gave your spare wrong key to another guest. It’s fine, though. He squared it away with me. But he says he left his luggage in here.”

Danny shook his head. “Wait, what?” He looked down to see two sets of luggage–one, that belonged to Danny Amendola, and the other, which probably was owned by whatever big doofus Danny looked like. “No, man, you gave me the key to THIS room, but someone else was already here when I came in.”

Danny reached toward his own luggage but Brewster was faster, snatching it up. “Sorry about the mixup. The man who checked in actually came in with his luggage while you were in the hotel bar. When he realized his mistake he came back down and we got him into the right room, but he was so tired he forgot his bags. No worries! I’ll hand deliver them.”

“Those are mine!” Danny roared, shocked (and pleased) by this big brute’s booming voice.

Brewster shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir, but you’re mistaken. I’ll have them send up some complimentary room service to nurse that hangover. I’m sure it’s going to be a doozy!”

Then the door slammed shut. “The fuck is happening?” Danny said. How had he let that annoying little guy make off with his bags like that?

The sunlight streaming into the room seemed to be causing Danny physical pain. “I gotta sleep this off,” he said. As angry and confused as he was, the lure of the bed was too much. He fell back into it, pulling the covers over his head, lulled to sleep by the smell of his own farts beneath the blanket.

*

Danny couldn’t believe the sun was actually setting when he woke again. He splashed some water on his face and studied his body with a clearer head. “I look kind of like Gronk,” he conjectured as he examined his long limbs. He reached up to find the ceiling so much closer than it’d ever been before. “I guess if Gronk ate like 90 cheeseburgers and quit working out,” he said, grabbing his firm, ample belly. For some reason he was relieved that the bloated gut didn’t sag or roll over. If he couldn't have his abs, at least he didn’t jiggle.

A buzzing sound brought his attention to the door. He opened it and a young, fit brunette man walked in. “Here you go, sir,” he said in a deep voice. Danny’s eyes immediately went to the bulge in the man’s slacks. He could clearly see a long, fat dick sliding down the man’s pants leg. Danny gasped as he felt a faint tickle deep in his ass–a feeling that grew stronger.

“I, uh…” Danny gestured toward the table in the center of the hotel room. “Just set it there.” The brunette strutted in and set down the tray. With a wink he opened the to-go containers to reveal some fried wontons, pork fried rice and some orange chicken. Danny couldn’t believe how good it smelled. He was a professional athlete; he didn’t binge chinese food! One glance in the mirror, at the hairy brute he’d become, and that gave him all the excuse he needed to binge to his heart’s content.

The hotel attendant winked at Danny. “My name’s Richie,” he said. “22. You look familiar to me.”

Danny nodded. “Yeah, I play in the—” He paused and rubbed his eye. What he needed was some coffee, to clear his head. “Maybe I saw you in the hotel bar last night? I was… pretty drunk.”

“You sure were,” Richie said. “But I saw you first on the apps… all of them.”

“Apps?” Danny said, confused.

“Yeah,” Richie said, producing his phone. He swiped across the screen. “You’re a real horny little pig, aren’t you?”

Danny was about to protest, but Richie flashed a photo in his face–of the man he’d become dressed all in leather, sitting on a massive dildo, his face contorted in ecstasy. Richie swiped the screen and Danny found himself looking at the body he now wore stuffed tightly on both sides: one big dick in his mouth and another in his face, his eyes wide with delight.

A flash of recognition broke through Danny’s hazy senses. He recognized the man in the photos as himself instantly. Furthermore, he recognized the photos. He could vaguely recall having them taken.

“So what’s your price?” Richie said, licking his thumb, then sliding his hand down to his stuffed pants leg.

“200 for me to suck you off,” Danny blurted out. He blinked, confused at the words that had automatically left his mouth. “500 if you want to fuck me.” Danny took a step forward. His body felt like it was on autopilot.

“What if I want to fuck you in the ass while you eat this food on all fours like the piggy you are?” Richie stepped forward and reached around, grabbing a handful of Danny’s jiggly ass. The former NFL athlete gasped. He couldn’t believe he was allowing a man to touch him like that. He couldn’t believe how satisfying it was!

Danny found himself moaning into the pile of Chinese food before him while Richie stuffed his ass full. Richie moaned as he gorged himself. He thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head. The pressure in his ass was too much. Richie was too big! But something about that feeling, of being stuffed within a molecule of his capacity, that felt rewarding. Every time Richie pulled back, Danny was desperate for him to thrust forward again. The whole time he scarfed up mouthfuls of Chinese food, snorting and grunting as Richie had requested.

When it was over, Richie tossed a handful of bills over Danny’s back. The door slammed shut and Danny knelt there on all fours, his breath ragged, with Richie’s load dripping out of his ass.

Worst of all… he loved every second of it.

*

“I’m Danny Amendola,” Danny said to the unfamiliar face in the mirror. He still remembered his time in the NFL, still remembered his life as an athlete, but new feelings were invading everything. He had shocked himself in the shower after Richie left when his thoughts went to Julian Edelman’s naked body in the shower. Before, Danny had never paid much attention to his buddy in the shower. What straight guy would? They were fellow athletes, nothing more.

But Danny was recalling every inch of Julian with startling clarity. He couldn’t stop thinking of Julian’s ripped ass, his tight ass, or his big, swinging dick.

The ID in the wallet on the dresser read, “Duane Masters.” His phone kept vibrating with notifications from some app with messages from horny men nearby, all offering “Duane” money in exchange for sex.

“So I’m a fucking whore now,” Danny said, patting his firm belly. He gave it a slap, satisfied by the resounding thunk it made. “But the other Danny is here somewhere, right? He should be. I was supposed to be here for three days.”

He picked up Duane’s phone and started to type in his own phone number. If he was Duane, then Duane was Danny, he needed to have a chat with him about what happened and how they could undo it. Just before hitting the Talk button, he set the phone down.

“Why the fuck would this guy want to quit being me?” Danny said aloud. This piggy musclebear bottom (a phrase Danny had never thought before, but now came easily to him) would never give up his life as a professional superstar athlete! “Especially not when he saw how much I’m packing in my pants,” Danny said. It was a strange thing to think about, the cock on his old body, but he found himself getting aroused by the idea. He resisted the urge to jerk off to memories of his old cock and headed down to the front desk.

It was after 11 PM. Brewster was there alone. Danny towered over Brewster now. Apparently there were some perks to being Duane. “Hi, uh… I need a favor from you,” Danny began.

Brewster never looked up from the game he played on his phone. “Towels? Sheet change? I can’t give you latenight access to the pool, sorry…”

“The guy whose bags ended up in my room,” Danny said, lowering his voice. Brewster looked up for a moment, then chuckled.

“Oh, it’s you! Ha, sorry about the mistake last night. Hope you enjoyed your room service.” Brewster winked. Danny cringed; had Richie blabbed about what had happened up there?

“Before I realized they weren’t my bags, I took something out of them. I was wasted, remember? I need to return it. Can you just tell me what room he’s in?” Danny shrugged.

“I’ll return it to him,” Brewster said. “Just give it to me–”

“I want to return it to myself,” Danny said forcefully. His voice, as Duane, was deeper, more commanding than he’d ever sounded as Danny. Then again, he’d never had to raise his voice before; everyone just did what he asked.

Brewster shook his head. “I can’t just give guests’ room numbers out,” he said, folding his arms.

Danny slapped the money Richie had given him on the counter. He fanned it out. “A thousand bucks,” he said.

Brewster eyed the money suspiciously. “For a room number?”

“And the room key,” Danny said, his voice now just a whisper. Brewster shook his head vehemently.

“I absolutely, positively, will NOT be giving you–”

“I’ll let you fuck me,” Danny said. He couldn’t believe the words had left his mouth so easily. Then again, if it meant he could get back in his own body, he was willing to do anything. “I’ll milk your dick with my ass, take you on a ride you’ve never been on before.” Danny rolled his hip to the side, slapping Duane’s huge caboose. “I’ll make you pop like warm champagne, little man.”

Brewster was sweating. His breath was ragged. He looked around, then peered over Danny’s shoulder, down the hall. “Look, I can get fired for this shit you know!” he said, fumbling through the drawers behind the desk.

“No one’s ever gonna know, sexy,” Danny said, a pit in his stomach forming as a whiff of Brewster’s axe-bodyspray-and-BO hit his nose. The idea of this dumpy goon letting out Dorito farts while he stuck his needly little dick in Danny’s ass…

Brewster snatched up the money and shoved it in his back pocket. He slid a key across the desk. “My shift ends in 30 minutes. If you’re not in your room, ready to make good on your offer… I call security, tell them you stole that key, AND report your little escapade with Richie, too. Got it?”

Danny clutched the room key desperately. He would agree to anything, just to get this all over with. “You got it, big man. See you in 30.”

*

Danny walked around hotel room 908, basking in his own smell–that is, the smell of Danny Amendola, NFL star. “Fuck,” he said aloud. His heart pounded. If only he’d just come to the right room, he thought. He still couldn’t understand how a man could switch bodies with another man, but he knew it had something to do with the room key mixup. It all happened when he’d dropped his luggage in the wrong room… when he’d fallen asleep in the wrong bed.

He cursed Duane’s body as soon as he pulled back the bedsheets and got a strong whiff of his lean athletic body–the body he was supposed to be in. “Dammit,” he thought, his thick hand going down to his little nub of a dick. Worse than his sudden hardon was the tingle, deep in his ass. It was an itch he knew he needed to scratch, and soon.

He gasped when the door opened. He whirled around to see his own face–that of Danny Amendola, that is–staring back at him.

“Who the fuck are you?” both men said in tandem. The shorter man slammed the door shut as they stared each other down.

“I guess I should have just left the hotel,” the other man–”Duane” in Danny’s body–said, having a seat and crossing his arms.

Danny took a deep breath. He was so aroused by the look of this absolute stud/. It was his own face, his own body! But he wanted so badly to be on all fours again.

“You did this,” Danny accused.

“No, I didn’t,” Duane responded. “I was as confused as you when I woke up. I went to bed wasted, woke up looking… like this.”

“We can’t stay like this,” Danny said. He’d wanted to sound intimidated but his voice shook, sounding like a desperate plea.

“Do you even know how it happened?” Duane said. He shrugged, one hand casually sliding down his ripped abdomen, down into the front of his pants. Duane laughed. Danny knew what he was laughing at; he was entranced by the look of this god before him… He had to continuously remind himself that this “god” was actually him! “No, you don’t. So even if I wanted to swap back, I couldn’t. But that’s not even what you want right now, is it?”

“Of course it is,” Danny said. His mouth was dry. He was desperate for water. Dammit, he was twice the size of this guy! Why wasn’t he folding him in half?

“No, you want this dick,” Duane said, jostling the bulge in his pants. He laughed and sighed. “I have to admit, it was one of my favorite things to wake up to. But not the only one. Your life is AMAZING, buddy. And I can’t wait to live it. How’s it like being me? That big ass is hungry 24/7, isn’t it?”

Danny shook his head. “I don’t know… what you’re talking about.”

“Seriously, big man, how many guys have fucked you since you swapped? I bet you couldn’t wait to sit on a dick…”

“Only one,” Danny blurted out. He instantly regretted the admission–he wished he’d said zero!

“Well, did you tell that guy that the man he was fucking was really a national hero? A football legend? Did you tell him that the big fat ass he was fucking had Danny Amendola behind it?”

Duane looked down and noticed the luggage handle sticking out from under the bed. “You tubby bitch,” he said, hopping to his feet with the grace and agility Danny missed since he got stuck in such a big, clumsy body. Duane yanked the luggage out from under the bed and tossed it at Danny, who caught it in midair. “What, did you think you were going to sneak your shit into my room to change us back?”

Danny hung his head. He’d been hoping to swap the luggage. If only the other “him” hadn’t gotten back so soon.

“Get out of my room, you pig bitch, before I call security.”

Danny knew he didn’t have much time left on the clock. If he didn’t get back to his room soon, Brewster would be calling security too. He hustled out of the hotel room (as fast as his bulky body could move) with Duane Master’s luggage rolling at his side.

He paused outside room 809, the room he’d mistakenly wandered into and somehow lost his life. He knelt behind the luggage he’d tried to leave behind in room 908.

He quickly hurried inside, slamming the door behind him. Brewster wasn’t there yet, thankfully. He tossed the luggage on the bed and flipped open the latches.

Inside the luggage was all of Danny Amendola’s belongings. He’d figured that the imposter wouldn’t let him leave with the wrong luggage, so he swapped what was inside them. He wondered how long it would take for the man wearing his face to realize that he now had all of his old clothes, much too big to fit his tight wide receiver body.

Danny pulled his old boxers out and huffed them deeply. “Please,” he wished. “Please turn me back to normal,” he said, inhaling the scent of his old body, hoping that it would transform him. He tossed off the cheap threads he’d been wearing and pulled on Danny Amendola’s boxers, hearing the threads pop and tear as he squeezed his big, bulky frame into them.

Then he pulled on a light blue v-neck, his favorite shirt. It was skin tight, and shredded down the sides, but he forced his mass into it. He stared into the mirror, wishing hard. “Fit! Dammit, fit the clothes.”

There was a knock at the door. Danny felt tears welling up in his eyes.

The door opened. Brewster was there… but he seemed taller.

“Ha,” he said, shoving Danny aside as he entered the room. “I was half-expecting you to not be here. Lucky for both of us, you were.”

Danny blinked. He felt different. He looked down to see the blue v-neck FIT! The underwear fit also. He was 5’11” again. He grabbed at his cobbled abdominal muscles, grateful they’d finally returned. He flexed his tight arms, patted down every lean inch of his body. Fuck, his cock–he’d never been so happy to see his cock before! Forgetting that Brewster was even there, he rejoiced in the fact that stealing his clothes back had somehow worked. He was himself again!

But something felt wrong… Brewster bounced his eyebrows as he dropped his pants. Danny was shocked; why the hell was this horny little hotel clerk waving his hard dick in front of him? He was Danny Amendola again!

“After you’re done sucking this dick,” Brewster said, “you can tell me why you wanted so badly to get into a professional football player’s room. Did you steal some jockstraps or something, whore?”

Confused, Danny glanced into the mirror. He saw his face–Danny Amendola’s face! He’d turned back. Why wasn’t Brewster back to stammering and begging for an autograph?

“I checked with Mr. Masters,” Brewster said as Danny found himself sinking to his knees, drawn forward by an incredible compulsion to get Brewster’s dick in his mouth. “He didn’t mention anything. So did you let him fuck you, too, whore?”

Danny found himself on all fours moments later, with Brewster pounding away at his tight little rear as new memories poured in. Something had changed when he’d swapped the contents of their suitcases; he’d gotten his body back, but he’d swapped their lives. Now Duane was the big NFL star and Danny was the gay hooker.

When Brewster was finished with him, Danny quickly showered the clerk’s stink off his body before rushing back to room 908. There was a maid inside cleaning. Duane was gone.

Later, Danny found himself watching Duane Master’s career highlights on Sportscenter. The big, bulky man was a terror on the field. He winced at photos of Duane and Julian Edelman getting drunk together. He saw Duane and Gronk on a Super Bowl parade float, spraying each other with beers. Somehow, what had happened had rewritten history–and Danny was on the wrong side of it.

The next morning, he heard a knock at the door. He’d barely slept, rolling around restlessly when he wasn’t furiously jerking off to shirtless photos of NFL stud Duane Masters. Danny huddled under the covers as the knocking continued. He gasped when the door swung open.

It was Richie. This time, he didn’t have food with him.

“You ready for round two, slut?” Richie said, producing a wad of cash.

Danny’s heart pounded. The reality of his new life quickly set in. He was broke, and he needed money. And he knew how to get it.