Guest Post: Becoming a Believer by "Anon".

Pumping bass, screaming girls, and lots of good ole booze: sounds like a normal day out here in New Orleans, huh? Well, unfortunately, the girls are far from being ‘of age,’ and the only ones drinking the booze would be their unfortunate parents with a severe case of buyer’s remorse. What am I talking about? It’s a Justin Bieber concert. You may wonder why a guy like me would be at a J. Biebs concert, and honestly, I’m wondering the same thing. You see, I go to Tulane University for journalism, and I have a job as a writer for the Tulane Hullabaloo, the school newspaper. My editor, Jennifer, assigned me this article, and here I am. A back­page variety article about a bratty teen star.

By the time I left campus, I was around three hours early. Apparently, not early enough, as there were no parking spaces anywhere at the Superdome. I parked a block away. I had my trusty film­-guzzling camera, and a notepad & pen in a small satchel I had from home. When I left Minneapolis, my parents effectively disowned me for leaving the state, so we don’t talk much. The drawstring backpack is all I have left of my past, other than discomforting memories. I walk past the security gate, flash my press badge, and saunter over to my seat. Pre-­pubescent girls wander aimlessly around the stadium, dazed and only wanting Justin to come out on stage. I was writing down some of my thoughts when a big black guy about my age came to my seat.

“You with the Hullabaloo?” he asked. His muscular arms were inked all the way to his shoulders, which were left uncovered by his sleeveless sweatshirt. He had an off-­white snapback that sat just above his brow, covering his shaved head. He reeked of Old Spice and sweat, as his face and hands glistened with tiny drops of both.

“Yeah, I’m Jake Brackensick. You must be De’Andre?” He smiled a pristine white grin and replied, “The very same, bruthah. Listen, your boss called. She got’chu a backstage pass. You can interview Justin after the show. I’ll come and get you, jus’ wait here afterwards.” Surprised that Jenn could get me something like a backstage pass, I just nodded like an idiot. De’Andre smiled, and walked off.

Not too long after, the concert started. Bieber came out in a leather sleeveless jacket, a leather snapback, black harem pants, and shiny black Supras that literally reflected the lights off of them. He performed his concert, dropping the word ‘swag’ intermittently, and with a profession of his love to his fans, he left backstage. As the star­struck girls left the Superdome, some in tears, I sat in my seat, waiting for De’Andre. I looked at myself, I didn’t really put effort into my appearance today­ not that I ever did... I was by no means prepared to meet an international pop star. I quickly flipped my hair to the side, and fixed my low v-­neck. It came across my mind as to why I had been chosen. I wasn’t a very talkative person, I didn’t really know anybody, this whole world of parties and swaggery was foreign to me. I was a nerd­ in the truest sense of the word.

Hours passed before De'Andre came for me. The janitors had already cleaned the mess left behind by the crowd, and left as quickly as possible. I sat in the Superdome, alone, until De'Andre showed up on the turf and motioned me to come down. I made my way down to the field, where he showed me past the locker area into a small dressing room. Two big bodyguards kept watch over the door, and as I walked past them, they didn’t so much as blink. We entered the room, and Justin was sitting on a small yellow seat, his foot on an amp. He had changed into some street clothes, and his performance wear was hanging on a rack in the far edge of the room. De'Andre introduced me.

“Yo Justin, this is the college reporter I was tellin’ you about. He’s gonna interview ya for a while.” Justin smirked smugly, rocking the amp back and forth with his orange Adidas.

“Yeah dawg, that’s cool. Here, man. Sit.” Justin motioned toward a ratty old recliner in the corner of the room that one of his thuggish friends brought over. I sat down quietly and stared for a moment, just taking in the odd situation. The stench of boys was overwhelming. A cold pizza box sat stagnant on the dresser, bottles of Smirnoff littered the ground, and a powerful scent of sweat permeated my senses. He had performed hours ago, I guess he was just a very smelly young guy.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Bieber. On behalf of Tulane University...” Justin cut me off before I could continue, literally throwing up a hand in a stopping motion.

“Listen, dawg. I have an after party on Bourbon Street in like, 20 minutes. Could we speed this up?” I hastily took out my recorder and pressed record.

“Alright. Mr. Bieber, how are you liking New Orleans...” I questioned him for about fifteen minutes before I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life. “Many Tulane students have been asking for more songs in the style you used when you were first discovered. What made you change from being a “good boy” to a “swagger” junkie?” Justin smirked, and began to laugh.

He stopped laughing abruptly, and shot De'Andre a look. He locked the door, and several of Justin’s thugs pinned me down into the recliner. He got up and started to walk around, with a very serious weight to his step.

“You know, you’re the first reporter I’ve met with the balls to ask that... So I guess I can give you an answer. You wanna headliner? You got one.” Justin began to shudder uncontrollably. I squirmed in my seat, screaming at the goons to help him. Slowly, the shape of a naked man emerged from his back­ a big black man. He was in his early to mid twenties, and really built. He had tattooed sleeves on his arms, and had a chiselled set of abs that were literally comparable to a washboard. Justin shrank from his toned, muscular physique to the thin, round ­faced boy that he used to be. I watched in utter awe at the man who was twice the size of Justin stand above me.

“Well, now y’know. This is how real swag works, bitch. When Usher asked me to help him with this kid, I jumped.” I looked over at an unconscious Justin: his tattoos all gone, his hair back to the classic ‘Bieber flip,’ I wondered how long this guy had been in there. “Now, y’know we can’t letchya go an tell anyone ‘bout this. So, how’s ‘bout we give ya a little attitude adjustment, huh? My bruthah De'Andre is particularly good at that. Ain’t that right?” De'Andre smiled with a malicious smirk, I knew exactly what was coming. The man returned to Justin, and stood him up. He pushed right back into him, returning Bieber to the swagalicious bruthah we know.

The goons spun the recliner around for me to see De'Andre stripping, throwing his clothes aside. I was stood up, and stripped as well. Justin, now back to his consciousness, took a hold of me. Just for the sake of humiliation, he began stroking my limp penis, until it became full at 5 in. The goons laughed as De'Andre compared his huge 9 incher to mine. A tear ran down my face, terrified. Justin spun me to face him, as the goons backed off­ my back toward De'Andre. Justin sat in the recliner, rubbing his crotch and smiling at me. I felt De'Andre’s hands feel me up, poke me, and prod me. I heard him spit on his hands and rub them together. Three fingers slid into my tight ass, again for no reason other than humiliation. With his other hand, he began to stroke my tiny cock, fingering my piss­ slit. Then, I heard him whisper to me: “Let’s boost that confidence, nigga.” With that, I felt an intense pressure on my calves, not pain, but pressure; then numbness. Justin took out his 8 1⁄2 dick and pumped it furiously. The same sensation of pressure radiated through my arms. I turned my head to see De'Andre’s gigantic biceps push into mine. More tears fell down as my groin fell numb, and soon after, my torso. De'Andre was almost all in, but he had to have the last word as he pushed his head into mine. “Jus’ trust me, you’ll love this.” My head went numb, and I could feel nothing. I saw the rise and fall of my chest as I breathed softly.

Suddenly, there was a euphoric sensation coupled with the sounds of stretching and moaning. I looked down to see my arms double in size, and tattoo sleeves creep up my newfound muscles. I found myself growing to a nice 5’11 with chiselled abs and pecs. Looking down, I was thrilled to see my cock grow to an incredible 9 inches with huge balls, bulging veins and all. I felt my facial structure change, and my mind began to race. I felt... different... I felt more, carefree... I didn’t care about the paper as much... In fact, I didn’t care about school at all... All I could think about were parties. Lots and lots of parties. Bangin’ chicks, drinkin’ all night long, and not giving a single fuck. Life was too short, man. Y’gotta live it up!

After that huge transformation, my cock exploded. My cum got everywhere. I saw Justin covered in my cum, and saw his seed all over me. I licked up ev’ry last drop. I picked up my new threads, y’know, ‘DeAndre’s threads? Hah, he won’t be needin’ them. I slid on my fresh Nike kicks, but not before takin’ a huge whiff. Ahh, the smell of musk. I smelled my pits, an’ the same smell was there. I got dressed, and looked at Justin. Yeah, we gonna party tonight. We gonna party ev’ry night. Hah, damn! I love this!