Stars Fly High

Day 1: Smoke

Day 2: Orb

Day 3: Blood

Day 4: Beach

Day 5: Revenge

Day 6: Mirror

Day 7: Football (I know it says Day 8, that's a mistake)

Day 8: Wash

Day 9: School

Day 10: Table

Day 11: Studies

Day 12: Six

Day 13: Money

Day 14: Battery

Day 15: Son

Day 16: Shadow

Day 17: Foam

Day 18: Pot-Bellied

Day 19: Dad

Day 20: Wave

Day 21: Electricity

Day 22: Satisfied

Day 23: Want

Day 24: Sports

Day 25: Choice

Day 26: Ice

Day 27: Closet

Day 28: Whole

Day 29: Ancient

Luca’s day started off fine. His manager, a middle-aged woman named Tabitha, was off running some kinda extra difficult errand so Luca was pretty much free to screw around the store and check out some of the magical items Tabitha had out for display so long as nobody came by and disturbed him. Unfortunately, a little bit after lunch, his day became a whole lot more complicated when a hot guy with an ugly expression came barreling into the store with a chest that would put a barrel to shame.

“I tried possessing my older brother’s body!” The customer said, flexing his impressive arms. He was a few years older than Luca and quite the stud as well. Honestly if it wasn't for his foul attitude Luca would've flirted with him a bit. "Are you listening to me?" the customer snapped. Luca blinked assured the customer he was hanging on every word. "Idiot," he muttered. "It worked, but now I got the asshole in my head complaining and begging me to get out. It’s driving me up the fucking wall! How am I supposed to jerk off with someone watching me 24/7?”

Luca nodded and told the customer, “I don’t have a lot of experience resolving and altering spells, that’s more my manager’s area. Lemme just send her a message and…” The moment Luca pulled out his phone, the guy began losing it.

“I am a loyal customer of this store and I demand to be treated with the respect I deserve!” he shouted, going on and on about the various issues he’s been having the past few days while Luca sent Tabitha a quick message, then another. Then another. He didn't blowing up her mind, she blew his up just as often if not more.

Eventually, he received a reply. “Just one sec, my manager just got back to me,” Luca rolled his eyes as he unlocked his phone and guffawed as saw the behemoth of a message Tabitha had left him.

“Hi hi,” it read, “sorry for the wait but I’m not gonna be back until tomorrow, probably! ;P Don’t worry, I got a couple spells scrolled up in my desk drawer. Use however many you need to get rid of this guy. If he keeps causing a scene then he’s gonna hurt my business which means we gotta hurt him. Do whatever you want to the prick shy of killing him. I’ll take care of the collateral later. Hugs and kisses! Burn my store down and your ass is fired and gonna be on fire. Ciao! XD” The rest of the text was full of a truly mind-boggling amount of emojis. If Luca didn’t know any better, he’d suspect it was some kind of secret cipher.

But Tabitha is too impatient for that kinda stuff, he thought. She’d need a higher dosage to do that. Even witches suffered from ADHD, who knew?

“‘cuse me, but we’re burning daylight over here,” the customer cried out again, arms folded over his impressive, barrel-chest. “Do you have dyslexia or something?! Is she gonna fix this or what? I’m complaining for two over here!”

In all honesty Luca just wanted to tell the prick to fuck off and talk a long walk down a short pier, but he quickly reconsidered. Tabitha had essentially given him a magical blank check to do whatever he wanted (within the limits of her prepared spells). Grinning, Lucas told the man, “One second, sir. My boss left a few things that might be the key to fixing your little problem!” he said, flashing the guy his most award-winning customer-service smile.

The customer rolled his eyes but finally quieted down. Finally able to hear himself think, Luca walked to the back of the store and pulled the drawer Tabitha had told him to look through whenever a client had a lot of cash or a lot of attitude. “Let’s see… Merge-jerker, body-swapping buns, Mindjack-ing Off… man, she’s perverted as hell, and unoriginal…” He knew Tabitha had a thing for dominating people use spells like these, but this was something else entirely. He was beginning to think she might need an intervention, but frankly that could wait until later. Right now, Luca had several powerful spells to take advantage of and a day off tomorrow.

Luca held up the small slip of paper and focused on the hunky and irate customer, who was tapping his foot impatiently, before him. “Harumph…! Mindjack…!” Luca bellowed out, his voice—amplified by the power of the spell—echoing off the walls of the near-empty store.

All the customer was able to do was utter, “The fuck—” before the mist emerging from the slip of paper engulfed his head. He convulsed on the spot, letting out pained groans before the mist finally dissipated. He stared ahead blankly, vision unfocused, with a dopey and slack-jawed smile on his face.

Luca let out a sigh of relief and took in the silence. He hadn’t realized just how much his head had been pounding. But now, he could finally hear himself think. “Customers really are just subhuman,” he muttered to himself. Then, after a few seconds of bliss, Luca walked around the counter and reached out to grope the perky pecs before him.

It was just as soft as he expected it to be.

Ohhh, the way that the lax muscle filled his entire hand, like a pillow made of firm clouds. It was like a stress ball, but far warmer and more fun to squeeze.

The customer let out a low moan of pleasure, but he kept staring ahead without a thought behind his eyes. Good, thought Luca as he buried his face onto the beefcake’s chest and began breathing deeply. He wasn’t wearing any deodorant or cologne or anything, so Luca was getting the entire natural scent from this man. It wasn’t particularly strong, but the faint musk and sweat got Luca going. He even started rubbing his hard-on against the customer’s thigh. Love my men thick as hell and dumb as brick. Ohhh…

Luca moaned into these wonderful flesh pillows. Pecs really were God’s gift to mankind. It also felt as though Luca had reached the gates of Heaven.

Of course Luca wasn’t done having fun just yet. No, he wanted to have a lovely, long and sexy time. Tabitha had approved for his PTO hours tomorrow, after all. “I’m not a bad looker, but I’m not enough of a narcissist to play around with myself all day tomorrow,” he told the drooling fool of a victim. “I seriously wouldn’t mind borrowing your bro’s body for tomorrow. You’re cool with that, right?” Luca reached out and gripped the fool’s chin and forced him to nod. “Great! Nice to know you’re in agreement.”

And with that, Luca began casting the incantation with the spell tag in his fingers. He finished it by tearing the paper apart and activating the spell. Almost immediately, it felt as though Luca’s very essence was being torn apart at the seams. No, not quite. It was as though he was an open faucet as his soul was flowing out in a torrent of water. He moaned all his physical sensations waned only to come surging back with a violent intensity that he almost felt like he was knocked over. In place of Luca’s much smaller weight was strength and power unlike anything he had ever experienced before.

“Ohh-hoho-ooooh, fuck!” were the first words—sounds?—out of his new, deeper voice. “Ohhh, shit! It worked.” Before he had even properly settled down, Luca rubbed his hardening crotch against the store’s counter while squeezing each pec with his new, more rugged hands. “Ehehe… nice…” he said out-loud as he began fondling just about every part of his new body. “Oh, shit!” He gawked in shock as he bounced his pecs. Once, twice. Oh my god, they moved so much he could’ve sworn he could hear the boing! sound effect playing in the background.

Slam!

Luca flinched as he saw his own body collapse onto the ground and start convulsing, as though it was going through a seizure. Shit, am I having a heart attack? No, that makes no sense. A twig like me? Then, some kinda side effect of the spell? Hmm…

He really should’ve been more concerned about seeing his own body possibly die before these eyes he had just stolen, but it was hard to care when all that was inside was some asshole and his jack-off brother.

Brother…

“Oh, that might be why.” The bodyswap spell was meant to be used between two people, two minds, and two souls only. But if the two brothers were occupying the same body, they were likely both sent into Luca’s old body. “So, it’s possible… the two souls were merged together,” said Luca, bumping his fist with his open palm as he arrived at the conclusion. For a brief moment, he felt like the detective of some mystery novel announcing the true culprit and not a man fondling himself while someone had a seizure on the floor before him. Reality hit Luca for a split second as he realized the situation he was in, and—still erect and soaking the shorts his new body had been wearing—he walked over to the front and flipped the sign at the front so it read ‘CLOSED.’

There we go, much better, he thought, nodding to himself in satisfaction. He was certain his boss wouldn’t mind if he closed up early. He figured he deserved it after the stellar customer service he had been providing today.

“Groaaahh…” Ah, so his own body was still alive. It looks like it hasn’t swallowed its own tongue in the process. Good thing, too. Luca wouldn’t have minded staying in this body forever, but he didn't want his way back to normal to be gone forever.

“Hey, you’re still under my control, right?”

Luca’s old body stirred. His eyes snapped open and he instantly sat up. He looked up at Luca and smiled before nodding enthusiastically.

Luca smirked. With two hairy, thick digits, he cupped his old body’s face and said, “Give me all the details of this body I’m in. Write it all down so I can impersonate you properly. Then, go home and enjoy your day off. I think we’ve both earned it.”

Luca’s old body nodded and began searched for paper, but before he got very far, Luca had another command. “Actually, one sec.” He cupped this body's chest and shivered as he felt another sensual thrill travel down his spine. "Do me a favor and service this new body of mine. You like these pecs, don'tcha?"

He took to the command immediately. Was it because he was in Luca's body now or was it simply the effect of the spell on his fried brain? Luca wasn't sure but he didn't care too much a this point. He just let his much slimmer body flip his shirt up and start groping these thick pecs he possessed. "Ohhh, fuck yeah, man!" Luca moaned out. If massaging his own chest was euphoric then this was borderline obscene. Each touch and caress felt like a mini-orgasm. Luca could've sworn he was seeing white as his old body went to town on his chest. "K-Keep going…! Y-Yeah, yeah, right there!"

He nearly came on the spot as his old body began licking those nipples. The hot breath and the moist tongue felt even better than fucking the toys in his apartment.

"Do I make you feel good, master?" his old body asked, eyes brimming with the need to be validated.

Luca grinned and wrapped both hands around his old's body head and slammed him back onto his chest. "Did I tell you stop?" he said, laughing as his cock fully hardened as he forced his old body to keep working those nips. "Nrgh! Ahhh! FUCK! KEEP GOING!" Luca roared, one massive hand holding onto the back of his old head while another went down to start pumping his borrowed cock. The pleasure kept growing, and soon he couldn't even control himself. He forced his old body to his knees and slammed his thick cock inside. "Fuck, yeah! TAKE IT! TAKE IT!" he kept roaring, forcing his old body to deep-throat his cock.

Luca was over the moon. Soon the pressure grew to be too much. This manly as fuck body and all the hormones coursing through it brought him to the brink. One hand tweaking a nipple, he cried out, "TAKE MY FUCKING LOAD!" and slammed his dick as far back into his old throat before painting it while with his sticky loads of cum.

Tears were streaming down his old body, but he swallowed it all eagerly all the same. Once the high died down, Luca cupped his old body's cheeks and brought him in for a quick peck on the lips. "Good job, there," he said, grinning. "Actually, let's get back to your place. I think we got a good thing going on here."

It ended up being a good day after all.

Nathan Hills was a man utterly floundering in life. His boss passed him over for a promotion and now he was engaged in a heated argument with his boyfriend over text. “What the hell is even the hype about marriage?” he sent. Then, after a few seconds of wringing his hands and angry pacing, he sent another: “You’re always rushing into things, not worrying about how I feel. We’re not even living together, goddamn.”

Of course, his boyfriend—a man about the same age named Miguel—didn’t take it lightly. “I’m going to bed. You better fix whatever crawled up your ass by tomorrow morning or we’re through.” On Nathan’s screen, a bubble popped up saying that Miguel had turned off notifications for now. Nathan let out a grunt of frustration and raised his phone to toss it onto the ground, but sighed and settled for dejectedly looking out his apartment’s balcony.

Summer was slowly losing itself to Fall, and the nights were slowly getting cooler. His fingers were shivering as he pulled out a box of cigarettes and his lighter. At the very least, smoking kept him a little bit warm.

What’s even the point of marriage? It’s just a waste of time and effort, Nathan thought bitterly as he took an extra long drag of his cigarette to calm his racing heart. Besides the tax benefits he couldn’t really think of anything that was really a bonus. The two of them didn’t even need to be married to live under the same roof. So signing a stupid contract doesn’t even do anything. So why does he even care so much? It… just means nothing.

Just then, Nathan saw something in his peripheral vision. A shooting star. Nathan looked up, squinting at the sky above. There were hardly any stars in the sky, especially with it still being dusk. But his eyes widened as he saw the shooting star suddenly shift trajectory right towards him. Mouth agape, mind unable to comprehend it, Nathan’s cigarette slipped through his fingers as the silver object shot into his chest and knocked him off his feet.

Nathan hit the floor hard and his body began convulsing. His fingers clenched and crawled at the ground as his body felt impossibly full—as if something else was trying to control his body. Try as he might, he couldn’t even cry out for help.

The, the convulsions stopped, and Nathan was just left lying on the floor—counting his heartbeats. He couldn’t move, it was as if he was paralyzed. But despite how much Nathan internally struggled, his body moved on its own. Its movements were a bit awkward at first, as though it was trying to counter some kind of muscle memory. But it stood back up, cleared its throat, and began to speak with Nathan's voice but a tone that was not his own:

“My name is Lancelot du lac, or rather, Lancelot of the lake. My apologies, but for the time being, I need to use this body for now.” He looked down and observed his new form. In particular, he was more impressed and fascinated by Nathan’s chest—the sole part of his own body he was truly proud of. “This is a relief. This body I acquired will be useful in my journey.”

“Hey, wh-what’s going on?!” Nathan’s voice echoed in his own head, and not spoken out-loud. He couldn’t move, couldn’t walk, and couldn’t talk. It was like he was just some passenger in his own body! “And, Lancelot, what’re you talking…?! Wait, the Lancelot from the Camelot myths?” Nathan wasn’t an academic by any means, but he was a big fan of those tales, and Lancelot had always been his favorite. He had often fantasized of speaking and interviewing the lecherous knight, but this?! It felt… unbelievable. If it wasn’t happening right now Nathan wouldn’t have believed it. “You’re actually real…?”

The body-thief nodded. “But as you may be able to tell, calling them myths is a bit inaccurate. My lord, King Arthur, is no myth. His contributions and dreams were very much real, and they are the only reason why people of this time are even alive.” Lancelot narrowed Nathan’s eyes and began stripping off his clothes.

“This body’s temperatures is far too high. It’s uncomfortable,” he muttered. Soon, he was naked on Nathan’s balcony. His nipples hardened as a particularly cool breeze blew. Lancelot sighed and stretched Nathan’s body, as though enjoying such a sensation on his borrowed skin. Nathan didn’t agree.

“What’re you doing?! Put my clothes on this instance! I’m gonna get reported and arrested if you don’t stop now, c’mon.”

“Silence,” Lancelot said with a roll of his borrowed eyes and cracking his neck. “I will go inside and hide this naked body of yours in a second, but allow me to indulge in these pleasant sensations. You can imagine how long it has been for me. This knight is weary after all the ages of working hard throughout these past few hundreds of years.”

“Hundred of years? What’re you talking about?” Nathan was starting to get impatient. “Y’know, not everyone is working with your centuries of backstory and context. Mind filling me in?”

Lancelot sighed and shook his head. “You are truly a disappointment. Is it truly so difficult to figure out? Very well.” He took a deep breath, leaned against the iron railing, and began to recount his tale: “I have served milord for over a thousand years, long after my body has rotted away into nothing but dust. I do this by borrowing the bodies of men throughout time to fulfill my duties and protect the humanity that my ruler loved so much.” At the mention of said ruler, Lancelot pressed Nathan’s hand over his heart with a smile. “Yes, it is by his decree—rather, his heartfelt request—that I am even here, so far displaced from time.”

Nathan urged the man to slow down. “This is a lot to take in. Can you dumb it down a bit? I’m getting a migraine. Plus, why am I still stuck in here?”

Lancelot chuckled. “Ah, I supposed I am quite verbose. The fairies who raised me gave me quite the silver tongue. We would often go and have quite the wordplay competitions,” he said, smiling nostalgically despite how much Nathan was nagging at him to continue. “Continue? Oh, of course. It has been quite some time before anyone has truly asked me to tell them some tales of my past.” One day, my lord was able to join us and we all had the most wonderful time. Oh, he was always so talented in just about every area. A true paragon of skills, virtues, and leadership.” He went on and on, pacing around the balcony with Nathan’s cock still out and flopping in the air.

“Man, you really don’t get out much, do you?” Nathan mentally winced as he realized he had ‘said’ that out-loud.

Lancelot’s good mood vanished. He rested against the balcony’s wall, arms folded over Nathan’s impressive chest. “It is difficult to retain many friendships when you’re a bodysnatching spirit unable to plant oneself into a time period.”

“Uhh… shit, sorry about that, but…” Nathan began before realizing what was even happening to him. “No, wait! Why the hell am I apologizing to you?! You’re the one who took my own body and you haven’t even explained why! Just some nonsense about duty or whatever. Man, you really were raised by fairies considering how manipulative you are.” Nathan at least knew the tales of what the fae folk did to people.

Lancelot grinned. “Ah, so you want to know about what my duty is, young man? It is very simple, even cliché. We will kill a dragon.” Chills ran down Nathan’s very core, as though he has been splashed with icy water. Black splotches danced across his vision as terror gripped his very soul. “Let me share with you these memories of mine, so you can feel the true terror of what I am going to face once more.”

And Nathan suddenly stood before a towering beast, far larger than any skyscraper—and enveloping the whole sky in an endless darkness. It wasn’t a dragon—it was pure evil. There were many bodies, many limbs, many faces, that all stared down at Nathan, yet only one voice to express its hatred and anger. No, not even that. It couldn’t speak, only cry out and roar into a world that couldn’t understand. Nathan wanted to scream as well, but his own mouth was taken up by another.

“That is enough,” said Lancelot, and suddenly the image of the great beast disappeared. “It is a creature of unrelenting madness and fury. Lesser men than myself will be unable to even glance at such a creature without losing their minds. It is why I have to be the one to do this. Only I can slay Baal and force him back to his dreadful slumber.”

“Don’t! I mean, what the hell was that?! You’re not seriously gonna fight that thing with my body, right?”

Lancelot paused before uttering in a low voice, “That is exactly what I am planning on doing, yes.” And Nathan burst into a series of protests and demands. “Your permission is neither wanted nor needed, worm,” snapped Lancelot, and Nathan clamped up. “Frankly I have little patience or pity for the men who live in this era.” Lancelot looked out onto the town and its dazzling yet artificial lights. People either faced forward without sparing others a second glance or stared down at the their phones rather than gazing up at the sky. And when Lancelot did, his expression soured.

Tears formed in Nathan’s eyes. “The stars,” said Lancelot, his stolen voice cracking beneath a great emotional weight. “With every leap through time, the sky my lord and I used to gaze at grows dimmer and dimmer. It’s as if the very life that the night used to have is fading away, as if it wasn’t a gift from God—all because of you people.” Lancelot’s grip on Nathan’s railing tightened. The metal began to creak as it bent under Lancelot’s fury. “And yet, it is I who is villainized in the tales of our kingdom. As though the very thought of betraying my lord would ever cross my mind, you wretched—!”

CREEEAK—SNAP!

Lancelot and Nathan stared silently at the piece of metal that used to be a part of the railing on Nathan’s balcony. Finally, Lancelot opened the door that led to Nathan’s apartment and stepped inside, not sparing the broken metal a second glance but instead keeping his gaze locked to the floor. “I’m… sorry about that,” said Lancelot, the blood rushing to Nathan’s cheeks.

“Um… it’s fine, I guess. That railing kinda sucked, anyway.”

Lancelot sauntered over to the couch and collapsed onto it. “Tomorrow will begin my journeyu to find Baal, though it appears as though he has no appeared in this town yet. For now, we will rest.” He reached out for one of the cushions and hugged it tight. Soon enough, Nathan’s body was snoring, but his original occupant was still awake, just trapped in a darkness due to his eyes being closed.

“Good night, Lancelot… you could’ve at least jerked me off.” Although unable to move in this state, Nathan could still feel his body’s sensations—and he was ridiculously blue-balled. He often masturbated several times a night, but now his libido just ached while he remained unable to do anything.

And so, with nothing to do, he reflected on his situation. Nathan wasn’t much of a strong thinker, but he could at least try to figure out a way out of this. “To be honest, I’d be pissed too if I did all of this for humanity and was just made out to be a homewrecker,” he said in his mind. “Still, thousands of years, bouncing around time, killing that thing over and over without a break.” Nathan had no doubt in his mind that Lancelot had completely gone mad, especially with how angry he sounded over the people just living their lives. But being so far displaced from his own time and people would do that to someone. “Great, now I’m developing Stockholm Syndrome.”

Nathan internally debated with himself until the sun finally arose, arousing Lancelot from his slumber. The morning wood remained ignored, and Nathan complained about it all morning. “Today, I start searching for the beast,” Lancelot announced after devouring most of Nathan’s food in the fridge, “I will endeavor to keep your body safe while I do so. You have my word as a knight.”

“A-At least call my job and let them know I’ll be out for a few days!” To Nathan’s relief, Lancelot was merciful enough to do that at least… after a crash course of cell phones.

“I have seen cell phones before. I even used one once,” said Lancelot as his borrowed ears turned red. “I just… have never seen one without any buttons before. Erm… how exactly does this work, exactly? The men of his era sure have odd and contraptions. This is more complicated than some of those artifacts Merlin would sometimes show us.” Once he was finished, Lancelot left the apartment in a simple, sleeveless top and the sluttiest shorts Nathan owned. “I must admit, it does do my spirit well to feel the sun and the breeze on my skin,” he uttered out loud—after another round of arguing, Lancelot agreed to put on a visible Bluetooth ear-piece so the whole world didn’t think Nathan was speaking to thin air—“even if it’s not technically my own.”

“Not technically, actually!” Nathan retorted. If he could, he’d have started bouncing off the walls in frustration. “This is my body still, so don’t forget that, okay?”

Lancelot let out an amused titter. “I like your vigor, at least,” he said as he strolled throughout town with a joyous moxie Nathan had never shown before. Each breath felt refreshing and every second in the sun brought more mirth and energy to Lancelot’s gait. “You should express that part of yourself more often. I’m sure your partner would appreciate it as well. If you allowed your passion to guide you more often in life, you would not have hesitated during that most crucial night and you would not have been alone as I took over your body. Perhaps I would have tried to find another.”

“I…! How do you know about all of that?”

Lancelot stopped in front of a large bookstore and glanced at the cover of the story on display. I have no mouth and I must scream, it was one of the few classics Nathan had actually read.

“I know because only a weak soul with a worthy body can contain me. Do you truly believe my soul found its way to you by chance,” said Lancelot, sneering at Nathan’s face reflected on the glass. Any good humor in his voice was gone, yet it felt as though he spoke with the utmost sincerity. “I am here because you’re a spineless man who could never match me in a duel of wills. You are weak yet able-bodied, you are in the area Baal will likely be born in and yet not too close that you are in immediate danger, and I truly despise your very existence. If fate decides that you must die for the sake of humanity’s future, I can fight assured that it will not be a significant loss.”

Nathan did not want to scream, he only wanted to cry. “I’m not weak,” he argued, “I just know my limits. I’m not ready to get married, and I’m not willing to drag Miguel through it just because I’m too arrogant to see it.”

Lancelot snorted, so uncouth for a knight of his supposed stature. “You’re so amusing while you’re trying to justify yourself,” he chuckled as he went back to walking throughout town. “Nobody is ‘ready’ for anything. Do you think newborns practice being born? Do you think parents practice raising children before having them? People may fool themselves into believing that they’re preparing themselves to take action, but nobody is truly ‘ready’ for anything. Those who can simply will, and while success is not guaranteed, they will have at least attempted to change, to make a difference. And in that attempt, they learn. There is always something to be gained, even in failure. But those who cannot simply delude themselves into believing they are waiting for the right opportunity to try and put an effort, as though opportunity is something that comes to you rather than something to be sought after. You are simply another of those fools. You are worse than a failure, you are a piece of driftwood aimlessly floating by—and that is how you will be remembered.”

Nathan remained silent. What else was he supposed to say? He remained silent, and Lancelot didn’t seem to care to prod him for a response. Instead, the knight looked around, brow furrowed in concern.

“Strange, I wonder where that beast could be. Often, I am able to sense it within a few hours of obtaining a new body, but I can’t sense a single trace of it,” he said, muttering to himself. Then, he perked up as a scream echoed in the air. The few passersby around them looked around in confusion but didn’t seem concerned, but Lancelot was different. His eyes turned to the source of the scream and he began dashing off into an alleyway.

In the parking lot of a seldom-visited pizza restaurant, a young woman held her hands up in the air as a mugger held her at gunpoint. Lancelot’s rapid footfalls gathered attention towards him. “Hey, stop!” shouted the mugger, pointing his gun at Lancelot.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” exclaimed Nathan, breaking his silence. "That guy's armed! He's gonna kill us!"

Lancelot didn’t respond. He stared down the mugger without fear or hesitation. “Drop your weapon, it is not too late to turn your life around, my good friend,” he said, honeying Nathan’s voice with sincerity that almost sounded foreign to its owner.

BANG! ...Cling!

For the first time since this unfortunate situation, Nathan was glad he could not control his eyes, for he was certain he would’ve averted them the moment the deafening bang filled the area.

Like a true hero, Lancelot did not flinch, did not yield, and did not hesitate. His hand, somehow moving faster than the bullet itself, dug deep into Nathan’s chest. A flash of light filled Nathan’s vision, and with a grunt of effort, Lancelot swung a blade shining with more brilliance than the sun and more weight than the earth—cutting through the air and producing some kind of angelic melody as it did so. The shining metal slammed the bullet onto the pavement below, and the robber took a nervous step backwards. He pulled the trigger again, only for the gun to collapse into two clean pieces and fall from his shaky grip.

It, too, had been cut by the sword. “Fuck this, I’m outta here!” The robber cried out. He turned and tried dashing out of the alleyway, but a swift kick from Lancelot to the back of his knee stopped any progress. “Argh, f-fuck!” The robber went down, leg twisted at an odd angle.

“Oh, my apologies. I do not my own strength just yet,” said Lancelot, flexing an arm that did not imply nearly as much strength as he actually possessed. Now that the situation was properly handle, he took a breath to steady his heart and twirled the sword so the tip was pointing to his chest. Then, he sheathed it inside of Nathan's body.

"… the hell…?"

He knelt down and wrapped an arm around the mugger’s shoulders and cradled him. “You a criminal, but deserve as much mercy and kindness in their darkest moments as does all people in this land. So claims God, so agreed my lord.” And with those sweet; honeyed words, Lancelot leaned in and kissed the mugger right on his lips.

At first the mugger struggled and tried to push Lancelot off, but he soon surrendered control. Lancelot was passionate, firm, and gentle. His tongue explored the mugger’s mouth while his fingers caressed his scruffy chin and cheeks. His other hand rubbed the mugger’s back.

"What the hell are you even doing…? Lancelot?"

But Nathan's words fell on deaf ears. Perhaps the knight was simply getting too into it, but it seemed like nothing existed except Lancelot and the mugger he was embracing. Soon after, the two separated, a thin film of saliva bridging their lips together.

"What is your name, sir?"

"Br-Brandon…" said the mugger, trembling yet clinging tightly to Lancelot. He looked up, eyes glistening with a desperate, frightened hunger. "What're you…?"

Lancelot didn't respond. He gripped both of the Brandon's wrists with each hand pinned him to the ground. Both stared deeply into each other's eyes. "Despite it all, I do pity you. I do care about you," said Lancelot, already calling everything he had said earlier into question. "This pain and anguish in your heart, allow me to take on that burden for you—as is my duty as a knight for my lord."

The dirt-stained jeans slipped down, revealing the Brandon's ratty underwear. "You're…!" The rest of the mugger's words died in his throat as Lancelot took the whole length in his mouth. "Ah! F-Fuck…! Ohhhh…!" The mugger couldn't even speak, just convulsing on the ground as he felt this holy blowjob. Such a tongue could only be described as godly. Brandon shivered as Lancelot's hot breath tickled his cock while his tongue worked its way up and down the shaft like it was a lollipop on a hot day. "Oh! Oh, it's like you're draining the cum outta me…!" Brandon shouted, eyes shut and tongue practically hanging out as Lancelot kept servicing like a holy knight should.

Yet it didn't stop at merely pleasure. Brandon's dick acted as a conduit, and he could feel all the hatred, the anguish, and the misery that swirled around his soul quite literally becoming purified—as though he was being baptized and being reborn as a person. "Shit, shit…! I'm fucking cumming!" he gripped Lancelot's head with both of his hands and thrust harder into that never-ending, silky-smooth throat and unloaded shot after shot of cum. "Haah…! I-I can't stop…!" Brandon he had gone a few days without getting off, but this was almost absurd. His hips wouldn't stop thrust into Lancelot as what fountains of cum spewed down his throat.

And the whole knight guzzled it all down without any difficulty. Once Brandon settled down—panting, exhausted, and yet fulfilled—did Lancelot drew back and let Brandon's cock slip out of his mouth with a plop!

"How do you feel?" he asked in a flat, calm tone. He stood up and peered down at Brandon like a commander would look down at his troops. "Have I eased your soul even just a bit, my friend?"

It was as if Brandon had stumbled upon a miracle. He shot up and threw himself onto Lancelot to embrace the man who he could only call his savior. "B-Better than all right, I feel amazing!" Then, a realization dawned on him. “O-Oh shit, my leg… my fucking leg’s all good!” Brandon looked up and stared deeply into Lancelot’s eyes. “Are you some kinda angel?” he asked in a reverent voice.

Lancelot ruefully shook his head, and Nathan felt over a thousand years worth of exhaustion crash over over him. Still, Lancelot smiled and pressed his forehead against the mugger’s. “I ask you, please cease this. I understand you are suffering, but inflicting more pain unto others is not the way to save yourself. I beg of you, search of another way.” It was a platitude that the mugger must’ve heard a thousand times before, but coming from Lancelot—somehow, it felt more sincere.

“Um…” Another voice spoke up, reminding them that the woman was still here. “I know it’s not much, but here,” she said with a guarded smile as she offered her would-be mugger with a crisp $50 bill. “There’s also a soup kitchen nearby. I’m a volunteer there, actually.” She took out a notebook from her purse and sketched out a quick map of the area. Brandon, fully crying, thanked them both and ran off.

But before running sight, he turned around and said, "I love you! I love you so much, man. C-Could you…?" Lancelot shook his head. Brandon nodded, tried his best to stifle a crushed sob, and turned around as he failed to do so. He ran off, leaving Lancelot with the guilt of having broken another heart.

Still, it was his duty as a holy knight to perform such acts. Lancelot turned to the woman and bowed. “You have a kind heart, ma’am. If only the world was filled with benevolent , understanding hearts such as yourself—I'm sure he would all be in a much better place.

The woman nodded, her eyes glancing down at Lancelot before she started giggling from embarrassment.

“...What’re you wearing?” Nathan asked. Lancelot looked down at himself and allowed Nathan to have a proper look at the attire that suddenly appeared over his body. “Oh dear god!” It has the style and taste of a woman with a chip on her shoulder regarding bikini armor. Shoulder pads that made him look far more broad-shouldered than he actually was, a small crotch-guard, and some bits of armor here and there was about all that kept Nathan's body from being fully naked.

If any cops actually showed up, he’d likely be arrested for exhibitionism. “Th-This can’t be your armor, there’s no way it is. C’mon, p-put something on, actually—for real, I’m gonna cry if you don’t.” He could feel the breeze whipping his bare ass-cheeks. So not even that was sacred anymore…

“Sadly, this is all that remains of the armor that has joined me the past thousand years of combat.”

“Is this Baal thing a pervert or something? How the hell was it able to break all of your armor except for this?" If Nathan had full control over himself, he wouldn’t mind too much wearing something like this at an event of some kind. But not in public, and certainly not while someone else was controlling him.

You’re that knight from all those years, aren’t you? The one who stopped that dragon? I could never forget that blade… although your armor certainly has taken a beating, hasn’t it?” she said with a nervous giggle.

“You… recognize me? Or rather, Excalibur?”

“How could I not? I mean, you saved me, all those years ago. My name is Brenda Wilde—I was only twelve when you saved my life from that monster. I never forgot about you.”

It was about 20 or so years ago. A young Brenda witnessed the monster Baal trying to ascend and annihilate her hometown. With wings of gory limbs and eyes leaking tears of sulfur, the beast took off into the sky and rained torrents of debris onto the town it sought to destroy. Brenda was among the ones about to be crushed—but to her shock and wonder a golden light filled the sky and cut through the shadows that engulfed her vision. Clad in armor and wielding the holy blade was a man whose face she could not see. But she never forgot the blade nor how he wielded it. In just an hour, the beast was but a mist of black smoke and despair, while the shining swordsman disappeared without so much as a farewell. Only later did she overhear people calling him, “Lancelot, the one who came from the Heavens to save humanity.”

Now, standing besides each other in the alleyway, Lancelot blushed at the memory. The ‘armor’ he was clad in vanished like a dying ember, and Nathan’s clothes from earlier returned to his body.

“I had no idea people were singing my praises in such a manner,” said Lancelot. “But I suppose that woman, Lara, was always quite the gossip.” He focused on Brenda, unable to utter a word for a moment. “I never imagined I’d met someone whose life I managed to save like this. It’s… the first time, truly.”

“Well, I’m glad I was your first,” Brenda said, chuckling. “Ever since that day, I… god, this is so embarrassing to say.” She shook her head as her fingers clasped her cheeks. Nathan wasn’t sure if she was just embarrassed or trying to pump herself up for whatever she had to say. “I’ve wanted to thank you for so long, honestly! You saved me, my town, everyone and I—! I really don’t know what to say other than… thank you, Lancelot. You didn’t just save my town, but you inspired me.” She dug into her purse and pulled out a little badge reel.

“Oh, she’s a nurse,” said Nathan.

“Momma always said I had my head in the clouds. I was glad I did, because I caught sight of what a hero looks like,” said Brenda. “I can’t go around slaying dragons from hell, but I am able to save people, just like you.”

“… Is that so?” Lancelot fought hard to keep Nathan’s voice even, and failed. “My, I… I had no idea. I really didn’t.” All he was able to do was blink away the tears that threatened to fall. “You’ve… You’ve done so well for yourself,” he said, trying to nonchalantly rub his eyes. She was thriving, she was being so heroic…! “Th-Thank you.”

Leslie chuckled. “Why’re you thanking me? You’re the one who saved me. Twice now, actually! Thank you for everything, truly.” She gave Lancelot her number, and then a free crash-course on how to add a new contact on a phone. “And reach out to me if you need anything, okay?” She reached out and happily shook his hand.

Right before she left, Lancelot squeezed back. “Leslie,” he began. With a smile that had a thousand-year old burden lessened just a tad, Lancelot told her, “You’ve already done more than enough. In your own way, you’ve already saved me.” Then he spun on the ball of his foot around and ran as fast as Nathan’s legs could carry me. He could not bear to have Leslie see him cry.

“So, now are ya feeling better?”

“What do you mean?” Lancelot muttered once he calmed his breath and was able to speak in a flat tone. “Ah, so you’re indulging in just how much this old soul had endured. You certainly are scum of the earth.” Although his words sounded harsh, there was far less venom to them. Not that Nathan minded, mind you.

“No, I’m not enjoying it—but I am tempted to. It’s more like… it feels nice to have felt that happiness from you, that’s all. It’s like a great big lead weight was lifted from me.”

Lancelot rolled his borrowed eyes. “This voice of yours irritates me. Please be quiet from now on, there’s—”

Buh-riiiiiing! Buh-riiiiing!

“Oh it’s that blasted phone of yours!” Lancelot dung into those thing pockets and brought up the offending item. “I should—! Oh, it’s your dear partner.”

“Don’t answer.”

Too late. Although it took a few tries, Lancelot managed to swipe on the screen and answer the call. “Hello, my darling!” Lancelot answered as though it was the most natural thing in the world, despite the protests erupting from Nathan in his own mind.

“Well, that’s new,” answered Miguel’s somber voice. “You usually don’t sound that chipper when you answer. So, are you ready to talk or are you gonna keep throwing your little tantrum?"

“C’mon, Lance! Just tell him you need a little bit more time to think and hang up, okay? I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“I’m ready,” said Lancelot, his voice full of confidence. “I’m happy to talk to you, now. I had to do a lot of thinking and soul-searching, but I’m ready to give you the answer you deserve.”

“…” The silence on the other end was deafening. But, eventually Miguel sighed and said, “Fine, come over, then. I’ll be waiting,” before suddenly hanging up. Lancelot pocketed the phone and picked up his pace while happily swinging his arms as though he was without a care in the world.

About half an hour later, Lancelot reached Miguel’s apartment. Despite how long he had been walking without rest or even any water, neither he nor Nathan felt the slightest bit tired. “Does your partner truly mean so little to you that you do not care that he is unwittingly allowing a strange man into his home?”

Nathan mentally sighed. If he could pout, throw his arms into the air, and scream… well, he likely wouldn’t be doing all those things either and just be simmering in silence. “What’s even the point? I can’t fight back against you. That’s pretty much clear to me now.”

“How despicable,” said Lancelot, rolling his eyes as he dug into Nathan’s pockets and pulled out the copy of the apartment. It had only been a few weeks since Miguel handed that to him, but now it felt like a lifetime ago. If Nathan was being frank, he hadn’t been using it that much. “But, I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised. I am just disappointed by how quickly you surrender. Perhaps it is better that Miguel won’t be marrying a man who will drag him down like you.” He unlocked the door and just before swinging it open, he said, “Nevertheless, I will try to remain charming for your sake.”

“My sake? That’s weird. Didn’t expect that from you.”

“I am still an unwelcome visitor inside of your body. Though many from my order cared little for basic manners, I am still a knight—one who must uphold the highest of virtues. At the very least, allow me to repay my own crime against you with this.” He took a deep breath, swung the door open, and said, “Yo, Miguel! I’m here!” in his best impression of Nathan.

There was no one greeting him. In fact, as Lancelot stepped through, his eyes narrowed as a strong, pungent odor suddenly assaulted the senses. “Here,” he said, voice low. He dug into his own chest again, pulling out that holy blade as Nathan’s regular clothes melted away to Lancelot’s armor. “Baal is here.”

“What?! Look for Miguel!” And yet, despite the urgency in Nathan’s voice, Lancelot cautiously walked through the apartment, knees bent and both hands clutching the sword. His soul was drowning in fear, anticipation, and… despair. What did he know? What was he hiding from Nathan.

Lancelot checked the bathroom first. Empty. Then, a room which Nathan knew belonged to Miguel’s roommate. Also empty, and reeking of what a single man’s room often did. Living room, kitchen, den… all of them were empty. “Why aren't you checking Miguel’s room?” asked Nathan, though he was already figuring out the reason why.

Lancelot remained silent. He tip-toed over to Miguel’s door and slowly turned the knob. The door gentle gave way with a sharp creak and Lancelot peered inside through the crack. The sight inside wasn't a surprise to him, but it was devastating to witness nonetheless.

“It’s too late," he said in a solemn, heavy voice.

“Too late…”

Maybe if they hadn’t walked. Or maybe if Nathan had said something different last night. If he had invited Miguel over, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Instead, all Nathan could do was stare at the convulsing form of his half-naked lover as a black fog finished slipping inside of him.

“I’m sorry,” said Lancelot. He threw the door open, crossed the whole length of the room to the side of Miguel’s bed in just three powerful strides, and raised his sword to pierce Miguel’s chest. “Die, Baal!”

But, mere inches from Miguel’s trembling chest, the tip of the sword stopped. Lancelot let out grunts of effort as he tried to force the steel down, but his borrowed body wouldn’t obey. “Nathan… what are you doing…?”

“I won’t let you hurt him,” said Nathan. “Without Miguel, this world isn’t worth saving.”

“You’re a fool!” shouted Lancelot before attempting to plunge Excalibur into Miguel’s body once more. Overcoming Nathan’s will wasn’t difficult for a knight like him, but it did slow him down by about three seconds.

Three seconds was all Baal needed.

Moving faster than either Lancelot or Nathan could’ve predicted, Miguel’s arm swatted Lancelot away with enough force to send them launching towards the wall on the opposite side of the room. The sheer force of the impact was enough to leave a Nathan-sized dent, and Nathan was certain if it wasn’t for Lancelot’s magical armor his spine would’ve been left in pieces.

“Hello again, Sir Lancelot.” It was so mercifully close to Miguel’s voice than Nathan could’ve started weeping, but the sinister tone tore away such fantasies.

Baal in Miguel’s body sat up on the bed and swung his long legs to stand over Lancelot, who was trying to lift himself up. A swift kick to the abdomen later, and Lancelot was lying supine on the floor, clutching Nathan’s stomach and glaring up at Baal.

Baal sat on top of him, sending them both onto the floor. “Oh, dear disgraced knight,” he said, sitting on Nathan’s chest. Miguel’s voice had never sounded so devious before. “Do you not tire of this game we play? How many times has it been now? A hundred? Two-hundred?”

“Not enough, clearly,” spat Lancelot. “Let go of your host and let us settle this like true men.”

Baal wagged Miguel’s finger. “Ah ah ahhh. Abandon this? Never!” He shifted his position to he was sitting on Nathan’s crotch and began grinding his bare ass against the hardening cock.. “No, no this body feels far too good to abandon just yet. So virile! And yet, so much despair and anger in his heart. He’ll satiate me for decades to come!” As he spoke, his movements grew wilder.

Lancelot blushed, as he could not control Nathan’s erection as Baal continued teasing it.

“Knight of Camelot, I applaud you for making it this far. You have done well, sealing me up all those times for the past thousand years, said Baal, tongue sticking out as he kept huffing Miguel’s armpits. “But I’m afraid our game ends here. Your lord should’ve known better than leaving this task to such a misanthropic whelp like you.”

Baal raised a hand up to the air and, fingers trembling with power, balled it up into a fist. He reared back and launched a strong enough to puncture Nathan’s chest.

“AARGHHH! Nrgh…! Miguel…” Nathan moaned out with a labored breath.

Huh? I… spoke…?

Before Nathan could process what was happening, Baal stood up, not bothering to wipe the blood from his hand, and walked over to the window. One swing of his arm and the entire thing shattered into pieces. “Lancelot,” he said, one foot on the windowsill as he stared out at the sky. Two large bumps formed on Miguel’s back as he spoke. They looked like they were about to burst out of his flesh. “We both have a master to serve. It’s not as if I don’t understand your devotion. It is merely that Mordred asked me to carry out his will.” Mordred? Will? Before Nathan could even ask, Baal said, “Humanity will learn to fear dragons once again.”

RIIIP! Spilling darkened blood everywhere, two large, bat-like wings emerged from Miguel’s back. Upon closer inspection, Nathan recognized them as the wings he had seen in that vision Lancelot showed.

“Please, Miguel! Don’t go!” begged Nathan.

He leapt out the window and flew off. His enormous wings flapped awkwardly in the air before gaining a steady rhythm. Any other time Nathan would’ve thought the sight was beautiful.

“Nrgh… ahhh…” He grunted in pain as he dragged himself across the floor with one hand while another grabbed Miguel’s discarded blanket in order to apply pressure to the wound. If he remembered properly there should be a first-aid kit in Miguel’s bathroom.

As he remembered, it was in the cabinet under the sink! Unfortunately, he had no idea how to use it. But he did know someone who would.

“Hello, who is this?” asked Leslie. Her voice lowered as she asked in a conspiratorial tone, “Is it you, Lancelot?”

“N-No…!” shouted Nathan. “This is Lancelot’s host. Facetime me! I-I’m bleeding…”

“Whu—o-oh, oh god. Okay…!” Leslie balked as she saw Nathan’s injury. “Oh my god! Where’s Lancelot, where’s the knight?”

“No time. G-Guide me through this,” said Nathan as he propped up the phone on the sink so Leslie would have clear view of his injury. He grabbed the gauze, ripped off what he could only assume was the correct amount of his teeth, and go to work. Once the shock had worn off, Leslie grew confident as she directed Nathan and was a comforting voice to have on the line. “Now press it onto the wound firmly. Yeah, you’re doing great!” she kept saying. “Where are you? I’m out of work now, so I can be on my way. Have you called an ambulance yet?”

“No, n-no way,” gasped Nathan. “M-My blood’s all over the place. No one can see this.” He couldn’t risk Miguel being blamed for any of this.

“Urgh!” groaned Leslie. “Fine, fine. Just tell me where you are, at least. God, you might have lost too much blood. You need a hospital.”

“I-I’m fine,” insisted Nathan. The pain was overwhelming, and he felt light-headed, but he was certain it wasn’t shock—probably. He relayed Miguel’s address before telling her to not call any emergency or anything. “A trip to the hospital is probably enough, that’s all. No ambulance, nothing. Wh-When we get there… I did it to myself, all right?”

“Fine.” Her disapproval was palpable, but she didn’t argue much after that. “I’ll be on my way there soon. Keep pressure on the wound. Avoid moving too much.” She went on and continued giving Nathan more instructions but he was already beyond listening to her. He was in deep in thought wondering what he could do to help Miguel. And where the hell was Lancelot? Everything was falling apart at the seams and now Nathan had little idea of what to do next.

Nathan blinked but was unable to drive back the dark sports dancing in his vision. Maybe an ambulance wouldn’t have been a bad idea, but he didn’t regret his choice. Once he got to Miguel, he needed to save him. He needed to protect him if Lancelot was just going to try and kill him to stop Baal.

“I don’t… regret… anything,” he said out-loud, trying his hardest to reassure himself. But that was lie. Although he didn’t believe stopping Lancelot was the wrong choice, not proposing to Miguel was a mistake. It was only when a blade was about to meet Miguel’s end that Nathan finally had the drive to throw himself into danger. “I’m sorry, Miguel…” he said, tears forming in his eyes as the realization that Miguel would never hear these words made his heart sink. “I was… such an idiot.” Only know, when he was taking these final breaths, did he realize just how much he loved Miguel. “I wonder… will we even go… to the same place… when we die?”

Nathan shut his eyes and surrendered himself to the overwhelming exhaustion.

This tale is a sequel/midquel/prequel/companion piece to Day 24: Sports

Welcome back, my dear readers. Allow me to shed some light onto this tale and provide the whole story. It was one of a simple desire: a perverted young man that simply wanted to indulge in some fun. Alfonso was just wanted to try out this little toy he had bought from a certain shop near the market district. It was a little toy wand that was meant to “expand the target’s mind and make it align more with the user’s.”

And what Alfonso wanted to do was open the mind of his father and brother, Carlos and Mario respectively. So as they slept peacefully at night, Alfonso sneaked into their rooms and blew streams of pink bubbles that popped without disturbing their sleep.

Mission accomplished, Alfonso snuck back into his room and went to bed after downing some magnesium vitamins. He always slept peacefully after injecting those, but the same could not be said for the family he had just hexed. Magic, when used irresponsibly, had a tendency to whip back much like karma did. None of the parties in this tale were innocent, and so their fates lacked any innocence as well.

Alfonso awoke, frustratingly enough, just a few minutes before his alarm would ring. Groaning, he grabbed his phone and turned the alarm off before slowly pulling himself off his warm and comfortable bed. If he went to bed now, he’d sleep the whole morning away and miss his shift at the local convenience store.

After washing up in the bathroom and changing to a fresh set of clothes, Alfonso walked into the kitchen and into a warzone. Eggs were burning on the frying pan, a sheet of charcoal that may have once been bread lay resting on a wet plate on the table, and both his brother and father were running around like headless chickens. They weren’t fully dressed, and their various articles of clothing were haphazardly scattered around the kitchen. In their rush to eat and properly prepare for the day, they failed to notice Alfonso walk in until he called out, “You guys need some help or something?”

Awkwardly chucking, both Mario and Carlos stared at Alfonso, glanced at the other, then back at Alfonso.

“Um… want me to take care of the eggs?"

Both of them ran up to Alfonso and demanded two things: “Can we have some of your ADHD meds?” was the first. The second and more odd of the two was, “Can we get a good morning kiss?” Neither man really waited for a response from the stupefied Alfonso. First up was Carlos, clad his decorated suit and just a pair of tighty-whities. He stepped up to Alfonso; wrapped an arm around his son’s waist; and pulled him in for a long, sensual kiss with tongue-play that would’ve made porn stars jealous.

Slap! A strong hand smacked and squeezed Alfonso’s ass. As they broke away, both panting deeply as they tried to breathe as much as they could, neither could meet the other’s gaze. “I… sorry, that was—I’ll be heading out now!” Carlos grabbed his pants, slipped on his nice shoes, and then walked out the door while munching on the burnt toast.

“What the fuck was—mmffh!” Alfonso barely had any time to react before Mario tackled him towards the hard and passionately made out with him. Their fingers interlocked as Mario pushed him against the wall, nearly crushing him with the sheer amount of weight difference between the two of them. When he drew back, a single thread of saliva still bridging their lips together, Mario quickly turned away and served himself the burnt eggs for breakfast.

“If I don’t hurry I’m gonna be late,” he explained, not looking back at Alfonso. “See ya.” And he left the house without another word.

What the hell was in those bubbles…? Alfonso thought.

Carlos’s day was still quite off, even as he peeled out of his home and into the highway. Several times did he nearly crash into another car as he was heavily distracted while driving. Nothing like this had happened to him before. It was like he could hardly focus on any one thing, similar to whatever his son was always complaining about. But he had online that some fish oil and exercise could make those concentration issues a thing of the past, so he encouraged his son to just try and do that.

Now, in that same dilemma, Carlos pondered what he could do as he let the time slip from his grasp. He ended up thinking in his car until he was 20 minutes late clocking in. “Hello, Brooke,” he greeted the front desk lady before rushing to the elevator and being unable to process what she had even said until he was halfway to the third floor.

Carlos worked at a multi-media empire, and was currently just one cog in the machine. Today was supposed to be a 1-on-1 meeting with the two to discuss Carlos' performance the past few quarters. He had been gearing up for this meeting for months. As long as it went well… promotion, baby! But now, on today of all days, this was happening. Need to figure this out, he thought. If I can get back under control before the meeting, I might be able to get pull myself together.

Once finally sitting down in his cubicle and letting himself take a breather, Carlos’ mind wandered off again as he tried to rationalize the past few hours. Was this contagious? Surely not, right? He opened a browser and began to look up whatever his kid had. ADHD? Well, better do some quick research on it before he got some work down.

One tab.

Then another.

Oooh, an interesting fact and quite a beautiful blue link to click on. This will surely be useful in the future. Better bookmark it but also keep it as a visible tab as well.

At some point, the titles of the tabs became unreadable, and soon not even Carlos could remember whatever it was he saw in them.

One thread leads to another until Mario’s entire morning was pretty much gone—and he only realized it when Brooks called his office phone. “Montgomery and Montgomery are waiting to see you now,” she said in her husky voice that drove many of the men in the building mad with lust. Oddly enough, he wasn’t a part of that group this morning—er, afternoon. But it was likely because he had more pressing issues before him.

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK…!” Carlos kept swearing to himself, biting his knuckles as he realized how much time was lost and how unprepared he was for this meeting. He had been planning on using today to rehearse what he was going to say to the two, but now his head was full of useless information and now he had to struggle with this ‘executive dysfunction’ hogwash while trying to get a promotion!

Still, if he tried to make up an excuse or feign being sick it might reflect back. Steeling himself with a deep breath and a small tug on his cock beneath his slacks, Carlos stood up and marched towards the elevator. On the ride to the near top of the building, he carefully rehearsed what he was going to say as his heart raced to new heights. He paced around the metal box, finding himself almost laughing as his mind worked overtime. In that state of adrenaline rush, it was as if he was unlocking the secrets of the universe. Chains that had been restricting him all morning suddenly snapped, and he was already imagining several pitches he could throw at Montgomery before the meeting was even over!

Carlos stopped by the floor’s bathroom to make sure he was presentable. As he thought, he was covered in a sheen of sweat, and that maniacal grin nearly made him jump out of his own clothes when he saw his reflection the mirror for the first time. Luckily the suit jacket was covering the armpit stains. He took a moment to catch his breath, practice his smile, and made him way into the meeting room to face Montgomery and Montgomery.

The oldest of the two and the father was Montgomery Wayne. Salt-and-pepper hair with a mustache that bristled with indignation whenever he saw something he didn’t like—namely, unfortunate quarterly reports. The younger of the two was Montgomery Wayne, Montgomery's son and likely to be the scion of the enterprise. Because it was often impossible to tell the two apart with just a simple conversation, the staff (behind the two’s backs) just referred to them as Senior and Junior, the latter of which had apparently found out and took great offense to.

Senior cleared his throat as he looked over the folder Carlos brought with him. Father and son sat about a chair apart while Mario sat on the opposite side, legs folded. So maybe it isn’t just the ADHD that is contagious, he thought, but also the gay—somehow?

He did his best not to stare, or at least not make it plainly obvious, but he hadn’t realized just how attractive both of the Montgomery men were. The Senior had a handsome, sophisticated air with him.the burly body and beefy arms with hair just slightly poking out of the cuffs of his sleeves nearly made Carlos swoon.

Junior was different. Much younger than his father yet still a few years older than Carlos’ youngest son Alfonzo yet still retaining a boyish charm. Oftentimes Carlos would catch the guy glancing at his father with a look of either indignation or just plain resentment. He likely hated living in his father’s shadow and not being taken seriously enough. Even just the nickname “Junior” was something he got due to his father. Perhaps he’d be a brat in bed? Carlos wasn’t sure how exactly the Junior would be in bed, but he so wanted to find out.

Focus, focus, Carlos tried reminding himself. He folded his legs to hide his erection and instead tried to zone out by staring at the rich skyline through the pane glass windows behind the two men. But no matter what he did, his attention was still on those two men and how they would be if they double-teamed him. Carlos could hardly get it out of his mind. Was he drooling? He wasn’t sure, but his underwear was getting wet and his whole body was burning up with envy. Oh god, he was sweating. He could feel his armpits dampening even more as his arousal increased. Not only that, there was something terrible happening inside of him. His stomach was gurgling like mad, and he was beginning to wonder if he was going to throw up. He should excuse himself. Ohhh! But then there was a chance they might see his erection! They might even think he was going to the bathroom to masturbate.

Maybe they could join, thought Carlos before digging him nails into his thigh in order to bring himself down back to earth.

“Well, Mr. Gonzales,” began Senior, a rare smile appearing on his round yet rugged face, “I believe we’ve seen enough of your achievements these past few years. I must say, I didn’t expect much from you when you first joined our team,” he continued, unaware of Junior rolling his eyes at such a statement, “but you sure made a believer out of me. What do you think, son?”

“Yes, yes, it’s impressive,” he remarked, the ire in his voice just barely audible.

“And your average turnover has managed to bring the company’s profits rates up a fair margin.”

“I concur,” said Junior, saying little else and appearing quite pissed about it.

Carlos nodded and tried to ignore the pain in his stomach. His toes curled in his nice loafers as he tried to contain himself and bring his erection down. Once he did, he could excuse himself and—”

“Are you quite all right, Mr. Gonzales?” said Junior, his brow furrowed. “You’re looking quite pale and all sweaty.”

“You’re right, my boy,” said Senior. “Do you need to excuse yourself, Gonzales? If you’re not feeling well you should just say so.” Carlos kept his mouth shut and shook his head while trying to remain composed. If he opened it, even once, he was worried he would vomit all over the two men. However, that seemed to only tick the Senior Montgomery even more.

He shot up from his chair and marched along the table’s edges to reach Carlos. “I do not need you getting sick in this office, Gonzales. Now if you’re feeling ill, let me take you to the bathroom and call someone up for you!" Carlos shook his head, cheeks filling up as the pressure traveled from his stomach, up his throat, and into his mouth. "Good god, man!" cried Senior. "speak, already!”

Carlos couldn’t resist. He opened his mouth to protest, but just as he managed to get a few words out, something rose from his stomach and launched out of his mouth before he could cover it up. A torrent of pink bubbles and foam filled the entire room as Senior and Junior screamed in horror at the supernatural sight. Before long, the foam began to dissipate, and Carlos sat down and stared as the father and son convulsed on the ground before him. Although a part of him felt horrified at the sight, he could ignore his cock threatening to burst from his slacks.

Ziiip…!

On the other side of town, Alfonso was on the phone with a friend. “What the hell even was in that thing you gave me?” he demanded

On the side side of the call was the usual—someone with excuses. “Well, like I said I took a bit of your essence to brew this little concoction, so aspects of your mind must’ve invaded the minds of your family," said Hank Billard.

"Aspects of my mind?" repeated Alfonso. Already he was putting the pieces together. "Including any mental illnesses I got? Or my sexuality?"

"Well, whether sexuality involves an aspects of one's mind or merely a part of one's identity is still under debate—"

"Yes or no, man!"

"Probably, yes. Although I haven't tested it enough to really figure it out."

Alfonso threw his hands into the air. "Great, just great! So now my father and brother are becoming sick sex fiends and there's nothing I can do to stop them."

Hank let out a groan on the other line and audible clawed at his scalp while trying to figure out some kinda miracle solution. "Listen, I'm gonna do some extra research and do a few more tests on a couple lab rats I got. In the meantime…" he sighed and said, "just try to keep your family under control for now. I'm sure whatever is wrong with them isn't nearly as bad as you think it is."

"How the hell would you even know that, bast—he hung up on me!" Alfonso nearly threw his phone against the wall in frustration, but took a deep breath to calm himself down. His head was racing with the worst kind of scenarios possible, but Hank did have a point. As long as he coached his family through this and made sure this didn't impact their lives too much they might be able to avoid a worst-case scenario, right? "And if they got my personality," Alfonso said, trying to reassure himself, "they'll probably keep calm and understand what's happened to them. Hell, I'm sure they're having a great time."

Junior let out a low, long moan as he sat back up, rubbing his throbbing head. "Mr. Gonzales…?" he uttered, squinting. His youthful face was flushed and winced as he uncomfortably pulled at the collar choking his sweaty throat. "Damn, it's hot in here," he said, utterly unphased by Carlos still jacking his dick in the office. "What happened to my father?" asked Junior as he undid his tie and slipped off the suit jacket.

Senior was no longer convulsing, just like his son, but he was still unconscious and not responding. Still, that sleeping face was just too adorable for Carlos to ignore. Senior usually had such a stern scowl on his face whenever he walked the halls of the company so seeing him relaxed truly felt like a rare and miraculous sight that it only made Carlos even more bricked up. However, he knew he couldn't touch—that was just a tad too much. Too risky if he wanted that promotion.

"N-No clue," said Carlos, his breathing picking up.

Junior tilted his head in confusion while expertly unbuttoning his dress shirt with just practiced fingers and without even looking down t his work. With a couple more practiced fingers, he last button was unfastened and he threw the constraining shirt away. Then went the pants, and soon Junior was stretching his thing yet still muscular body while wearing just and undershirt and a pair of boxers. "I suppose I have no choice," he said, looking down at his father.

"Should we call someone…?" asked Carlos.

"Call someone? If they want to watch like you, sure," said Junior, grinning with a certain freshness to his voice. "They say only with a kiss could Sleeping Beauty awaken. It's always been my favorite fairy tale. Wonder if the same applies to my father."

Carlos could only watch, mouth hanging open, as Junior sat on his father's pelvis and leaned down to plant a passionate kiss on his father's sleeping lips.

"Urgh…" Immediately, Senior began to stir. Junior drew back, placing his hands on his father's chest and pushing on them to help him sit back up. "Wa-Wayne… you…" However, instead of being outraged, Senior smiled at his son. "I never thought I'd see the day you woke me up with a kiss like that. I really do feel like Snow White."

"So that's your favorite—like Alan Turing. Makes sense considering who you are," said Junior, leg bouncing as he spoke to his father. "You're not repulsed, dad?"

Already Senior's hands were hard at work unbuckling his belt. "How could I be, son?" he said, chuckling in a low, husky voice. His breathing was deep and needy—his hands were trembling with anticipation. His hairs that peeked through his shirt and sleeves stood on end. He was like a hunter ready to strike. He gripped his expensive dress shirt with both hands and ripped it open. Buttons spread throughout the floor, and Carlos could've sworn he was cumming right at that display of raw masculinity.

The slacks went next, and soon Senior was dressed in just a plain white undershirt and briefs, matching his son but not quite. "I don't know why, but I feel like I've wanted something like this all my life," he said. With a low, manly groan, he grabbed Junior with both hands and together the two tumbled onto the floor into a tangle of limbs.

To both his and Carlos' surprise, Junior drew back. His face was twisted into an irritated scowl, as though he couldn't believe what his father was doing. "Not like this," he said.

"S-Son…?" began Senior with a crestfallen look of despair.

"I do love you, dad—but I don't want to be topped by you," declared Junior. He shrugged, helplessly throwing his arms into the air as he spoke. "Do you know what they call me out there? 'Junior.' Junior Montgomery. How am I ever supposed to stand on my own if all I do is get overshadowed by you? If all I am is just an extension of you… if I get fucked by you?"

Erection briefly forgotten, Carlos kept glancing back and forth between the duo. Just how was this supposed to be resolved? At some point this scene out of a porno became a genuine family drama. He didn't dare speak and ruin this raw yet tender moment between father and soon, but he was on the edge of his seat and on the edge of bursting into tears.

Eventually, Senior's shoulders sagged. "I suppose I have been babying you all this time, son. You're a man now, and I supposed I wasn't able to see that. Maybe I was too focused on training you to become more like me that I forgot to see you building who you are. Could you ever forgive me…?" he asked, on his knees and clasping his hands like a sinner confessing in church.

Junior looked down at his father, hesitating. But then, a smirk… "I guess I could… if you let me top you, instead."

Ah, what a smart bastard, thought Carlos. This company's in safe hands, indeed.

Senior apparently had the same idea, because he burst out into a fit of laughter, clutching his belly. "Ahaha… oh son! Of course! Of course you can." Perhaps a little too eagerly, Senior hooked the mouth of his briefs with his fingers and slid the underwear off. He threw it to the side and it landed right next to Carlos, who scooped it up and started taking a quick whiff. It wasn't everyday one was able to snatch up their boss' underwear.

Senior got up and walked over to the table. He pushed the chairs away and threw the papers to the side to make for more room. "Show me, son," he said as he lied supine on top of his table. He spread his legs, pink hole in full view, and teased it by rubbing the rim with a finger. "I want to see what kind of a man you've become. Show it to me, paint my inside and fill me up with your juices, son!"

This time it was Junior's turn to rip his underwear off. The pieces of fabric fell to the floor as Junior ran, cock first, towards his father. "I love you so much, dad," he said breathlessly, desperation heavy in his voice. He spoke in a much lower tone, huskier—like he was trying to imitate his father. But then, as his hands gripped Senior's trembling thighs, he said, "I'm gonna get you pregnant with my kids, now," in a tone that matched his own naturally higher pitch. "The future's with me, dad. I'm the one that's gonna bring it to you."

He placed one of his digits in his mouth, making sure to get it nice and wet before starting with just one finger in his dad's rosebud. Senior gritted his teeth and immediately slammed his hands onto the table in response to the sudden pressure. "Hey hey hey, c'mere." Junior climbed onto the table himself and on top of his father's much larger frame. "I'll be gentle, I promise." He said, cupping his father's cheek in his free hand before pulling his in for a kiss.

Senior's thighs relaxed somewhat, and even though he was moaning into Junior's mouth as the latter kept stretching his hole it seemed like he was much more comfortable. Was it due to his son's words or because of the expert technique? Had Junior always been this good at sex?

Fuck, maybe I should've been asking this guy to rearrange my insides, thought Carlos. Seeing such a sight before him made him think about his own family and his own boys, and that only made him hornier. The stifled the moan as best he could while imagining Mario and Alfonso double-teaming him, treating him like the whore he was as they stripped him naked and started plugging all of his holes full of their delicious cocks.

"Haaah…! Argh! Son, y-you've grown so much!" Senior's shouts broke Carlos' concentration, but the sight brought him back to full hardness. Junior threw himself onto his father's chest, groping and rubbing his face against the hairy mounds while his cock was pounding away at his father's hole. "F-Fuck…! Oh my god…" In the meantime, Senior was made a sweaty mess. His back arched from the pleasure as Junior thrust in and out—each slap of flesh meeting flesh becoming louder and wetter.

"AAAH, FUCK!" Senior's toes curled and his hands scratched at the table as Junior's fit the last few inches of his cock in his father's tight hole. Senior was beyond words, only able to scream and groan in the indescribable pleasure.

Junior was panting with a large, relieved smile on his face one his bush met his dad's rim. "Oh, dad… you feel sooo nice and warm right now." He pulled away, each inch causing Senior to tremble from the pressure. But just about halfway out, Junior thrust in again.

Senior's whole body seized from the sudden penetration, eyes rolling back and mouth slack-jawed in a mix of agony and euphoria.

From there, Junior picked up the pace again. He gripped both of Senior's thigh and pulled him in with each thrust, desperately trying to get in deeper. "Shit, shit…! This feel so fucking good!" Junior cried out in-between desperate, labored pants. He was utterly transfixed by how hot his father's hole felt. It was as if his cock was meant to dig deep and unleash his load—claiming Senior as his own. Just the idea of that further motivated him, and he smacked his father's jiggling, soaked thighs as he put all of his body weight into abusing that hole. "Keep it tight, keep it tight… fuck, fuck...!"

Junior's expression shifted. He could his feel his climax approaching, but he feared it. He didn't want this moment to ever end. Holding his father like this and this feeling of connecting—of becoming one. He hesitated, slowing down to let this act of intimacy last longer.

A hand clasped over his Junior's and squeezed. Cheeks red, eyes moist, and mind hanging on the edge of madness—Senior Montgomery told his son, "Keep going. Cum in me, son.. I want—no, I need your load inside me, Monty. Cum inside and prove that you're a grown man to your father."

Junior could hardly believe those words that tugged so fondly on his heartstrings. He nodded and once more threw his body on top of his father, embracing him as he picked up the pace. "Take it, take it all!" he growled with the ferocity of an animal in heat. "Say my name! Who owns this ass, huh?!"

"Hah…! Ah, y-you do, son…!" said Senior, his whole body trembling with the pleasure once more coursing.

"Fuck, fuck! You feel so damn good! I can't take it!" Junior shouting, nearly crushing his father as he squeezed tighter, trying to pull him closer and deeper. He dint' want to let go, he wanted to wrap his arms around this large frame and never let go. But that wasn't what his father wanted. Junior need that, and he knew he was being selfish. So he picke dup the pacer again, thrusting harder until his whole body was alight with the need to cum. "So hot, FUCK! D-Dad, I-I'm cumming…!" he cried out, teeth gritted as he thrust as deep as he could.

"Fuck, fuck! S-Son, I-I feel it! It's so warm…!" was all Senior was able to shout as Junior's hot, sticky cum filled him up. Both men screamed to the heavens above as they came. Senior's untouched cock blew his own load between the two men, coating them both in Senior's juices and adding to the filth.

"Nrgh…! F-Fuck…" was all Junior was able to say as he pulled his cock out of dad's ass. A trail of his cum dribbled out. "Damn, it really does look like an eclair," he said, truly allowing just about every intrusive thought leak out.

Senior grinned and ruffled Junior's damp, sweaty hair. "I'm proud of you, really I am," he said between exhausted yet satisfied pants. "I haven't been worn out like this in years. It figures my own kid is the only one to overwhelm me like this."

Sheepishly, Junior nodded and tried smiling back. He rubbed his cheek against his dad's chest and said, "I don't mind being spoiled like this every once in a while though, even as a real man now."

Senior chuckled and wrapped his own arms around Junior. "Of course. Anything for the boy that made me his bitch," and the two started laughing.

"Wow," said Carlos, sniffling as he tried to blink the tears that threatened to cascade away. Such a touching scene. From porn to just straight-up a family drama. While he figured he would need tissues today he didn't expect it to be his tears. "That was beautiful."

Both Junior and Senior whipped their heads to glare at him, and suddenly the room's atmosphere grew heavy. "Who the hell does this guy think he is, interrupting a tender moment like this?" said Junior, the disdain in his words somehow pointedly cruel. Did he even know Carlos' name?"

"Honestly, Mr. Gonzales," said Senior in the usual stern tone he used whenever he was reprimanding someone. Carlos had heard it many times before, usually to someone else, and prayed to God that it would never happen to him. Unfortunately, both God and the gentle father were gone. "Can you truly not read a room when you see it? It's frankly a bit insulting you even remained here and decided to become a voyeur for this heartwarming moment between a father and son." He scowled, his mustache bristling as he regarded Carlos. "Come to think of it, you were here because Junior and I were considering promoting you, were you not?"

Junior smirked, and Carlos could've sworn the sight of which shaved years off his life. "I think Carlos needs a little bit of a punishment for watching us, Mr. Wayne. And if he can withstand it, we can give him a promotion." Both of their cocks were hardening again as they shared a sadistic, mischievous grin. They pushed themselves off the table and strode over to Carlos, who was hardly even able to get a word for his case.

Two hands clasped each shoulder and pushed Carlos down to his knees. "It's time you showed this company your loyalty, Mr. Gonzales," said Senior. He looked up at his son and asked, "Are you ready for a second round, my boy?"

Junior nodded, clearly confident. "I've got enough energy to breed just about every employee here, dad. I'm ready."

"That's my boy! Such a stud of a man," cheered Senior, clapping his own hand on his son's shoulder while kicking Carlos to start servicing them.

Although not quite how he imagined it, Carlos did get his promotion. Both his ass and throat were much more sore than he would've wished, but it was all worth it in the end—everything was worth in order to provide for two young, hot sons. Although perhaps Senior and Junior had been just a bit too rough with him, he considered, wincing as he opened the car door and collapsed onto the seat.

This is a sequel to Couple's Therapy, which can be found here.

Marcus looked down at this request before crumbling it up and placing it in his pocket. He let out a sigh, took a long drag from his cigarette, and stomped it with his foot before going out on a walk to clear his head and to get a better idea of the new town he was in.

After a few months of operating in his hometown, Marcus decided it would be better to move on and not stay in one area for too long. Part of the reason was born out of regret. His powers weren’t fully under control as he initially believed they were, which caused some friction for about half to the couples he provided his unique counseling skills to. The other half seemed quite satisfied, but a 50% failure rate wasn’t exactly a passing grade for himself.

Of course, Marcus made sure to let most of his old clients, the satisfied ones at least, that he was going to be moving. For now, he was just rented out a little office space he discreetly also slept in, though the landlord didn't need to know that. However, he hadn't started advertising to the locals just yet—he wasn't quite ready to start. Even so, when awoke that morning and checked the mail, he received an unmarked envelope.

And as Marcus scanned the contents, he scowled.

“My father’s still in the closet. I’ve already graduated college and moved out with my partner, but my father still seems to be in denial about his sexuality. He’s been divorced from my mother for a while now, and I just want him to be happy, but it seems like he’s just holding himself back for some reason. Is there anything you can do?”

On the bottom of the letter was a single phone number. Likely a burner phone, considering the sender didn't put their name or address anywhere. The sender probably didn't want Marcus to find them or for anyone to know they had even contacted Marcus in the first place. However, they must've kept up with Marcus' work and movements if they knew he was staying here. He had to admit, he was rather impressed, but that didn't overshadow just how annoyed he was. The sender must've known he was currently on break and wasn't even sure if he was going to continue his work. Marcus crumbled up the note and took off.

He should’ve just thrown it in the trash and forgotten about—that would've solved everything—but some of those words weighed heavy in his mind. Still in the closet... he thought. Those words alone made him reconsider. It wasn't like any of his previous jobs, but the usual method might be able to fix it. Still, he hesitated. And with that came a whole host of problems. Now that sheet just felt heavy in his back pocket as he walked through the streets of this unfamiliar place, intent of memorizing routes.

A new problem arose: he was lost. Streets looked familiar and yet utterly unrecognizable. Marcus knew he wasn't great at following maps or remembering the routes, but he figured with enough age he'd eventually get good at it. Unfortunately, it seemed like he was wrong. Nevertheless, he kept his gaze firmly forward and his visage neutral. Nobody would know he was lost if he simply acted like he knew where he was going, and eventually he would, right?

Not too long after, just when he was about to give up hope and look for a map on his phone, a familiar voice rang out. “Marcus! Is that really you?” He couldn’t help but turn around despite how risky it could’ve been. He had his fair share of enemies at this point, but just the thoughts of finally interacting with a voice that wasn’t his own—wasn’t his inner monologue—was so enticing he could not help himself.

And to his relief, it was a friendly face. Not only that, but one that was rounder, fuller, and more colorful than last he saw her. “Julia…?” he breathed out, almost speechless as his former client came bounding over.

Beaming brightly as she approached, Julia didn’t slow down. Marcus nearly held his arms up in a defensive posture before she extended her arms out and tackled him into a hug that nearly bowled him over. It was only due to him expecting an impact that the pair remained standing, but never in his life would he have imagine she was going to embrace him like this.

Marcus blinked hard, staring up at the sky to make sure not a single tear fell. Once he was certain he wouldn’t embarrass himself, he said, “It’s nice to see a familiar face here,” with the dry tone he often used.

Julia tittered as she pulled back. She had gained weight, looking much healthier than the twig-like and stressed out woman Marcus had initially met; her round cheeks regained some of the lively, rose color they had lost;, and her eyes were gleaming with energy like fireflies on a cool summer night. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in so long ever since I moved. I tried to tell you but I found your office all but deserted when I stopped by!"

Marcus winced at that. He had been intending to let Julia know as well, but with her case being part of the reason he had gotten so big at his previous locale, it felt a bit awkward to tell her about it without accidentally implying that it was her fault he was leaving town. So he decided to forgo visiting her or leaving a note. "Sorry, I couldn't find your address. I lost it by accident."

"That's all right!" she said, still beaming. "Oh my gosh, are you busy right now? We should definitely sit down somewhere and catch up! I know all the nice eats around these parts.” Chest puffed out with pride, she dug into her purse and pulled out a folded up magazine. A local paper? She flipped to a certain page and all but shoved it in Marcus’ face. “Look, look! See?!”

Marcus took the magazine and skimmed through the page. Julia Hawking’s Juice Japes. The mouth-watering pictures of food and Julia posing with a few cooks and chefs spelled it all out. “I didn’t realize you were a food critic.”

“I wasn’t, when we first met,” she said. “Are you busy? I’d like to tell you all about it.”

“No, I can’t say that I am. Please, lead the way. I was actually trying to scope out this new location.” They walked side-by-side, and the whole way Marcus was reflecting—both on how much Julia had changed and if this was what it was like growing up with a sibling, although Julia had a few years over him.

“It’s really nice to see you again. To be honest, I was actually hoping I could show you how much I’ve changed,” she said, taking a sip of her sugary smoothie she had ordered. Marcus, meanwhile, ordered a juicy steak for his meal. He had skipped breakfast today, as he tended to do.

“With Trevor’s attitude change," continued Julia, "I’ve had time to keep growing my career and now…” she blushed before saying, “Yeah, I’ve started running my own business. Anyway, we ended up moving here since it’s closer to my husband’s mother so he could continue taking care of her.”

Hmm? Marcus hadn’t expected that reveal. When was his mother in the picture?

“To be honest, she really wasn’t—for a while, a least,” said Julia. “But after the treatment we did with you… he changed. Not just him being more open to all this other stuff, but he’s become much kinder. Much more interested in people’s well-being. To be honest, it was such a 180 that I was nearly floored. I know I asked for you to make me treat me nicer, but he really has become a stand-out guy.”

Marcus nodded to himself. “Well, at least it worked out for you," he said, resting his elbow on the table, forlorn.

Julia's brow furrowed. "Oh, I did hear some things before I left—about your business. Um… there were some issues?"

'Issues' was putting it lightly. What had ended up happening was several of the husbands of his clientele becoming far more sexually active and more interesting in the same gender. The end result is many of the husbands cheating on their wives with each other. To make things worse, not all of the wives were completely outraged. About enjoyed the little 'shows' their husbands put on or saw it as a form of sexual liberation. From t hat came disagreement—and then friendships began to shatter. The whole town ended up becoming a battlefield or sorts.

Marcus becoming the enemy of the heterosexual couples of that town would've suited him just fine. He was used to being outcasted and scapegoated, it was almost nostalgic. It didn't feel great, but it was something her was used to. Having others stick up, defend him, and ruin their standing with the rest of the town was what made him uncomfortable. So he packed his bags, apologized, and left.

Julia sighed when Marcus finished telling his story. "It is a shame," she said.

"I know. I didn't mean to mess up their marriages like that," said Marcus, bowing his head as he thought back to the women yelling at each other. "I didn't think I influenced them that much."

"No, I meant all those ladies running you out of town as if we're not all on the same boat." Julia reached out and squeezed Marcus' hand. "You really helped me out, y'know. Not just me, but also all those other women in town, even if they didn't particularly care for the end result." She spoke with such confidence that Marcus was almost convinced. However, he wrested his hand from her grip and drew back.

"I made them unfaithful."

“I don't know if you did all of that. I think my husband became kinder and more considerate of others because you possessed him. And you didn’t reprogram him—not completely anyway, I think. You showed him that he’s capable of becoming that kind of person." She flashed an awkward smile, which reminded Marcus of the timid young woman who first stepped into his office with her head bowed and her hands trembling. But there was no meekness in that smile anymore. No, she seemed like she was having fun at how awkward she was being, like she was inviting him to joke and smile with her.

“I’m no doctor, lawyer, or psychologist so I can’t exactly discuss with you how ethical your method is, but I do know one thing: you saved me, and Trevor, too. I think he’s much happier this way, not because he’s been reprogrammed to think so, but because he’s just much more comfortable living in his own skin again. Life tears you down," she continued, "but I think you helped him take the first step in rebuilding himself back up. After that, the rest was for the two of us to do."

Comfortable in his own skin, huh…? Marcus let those words echo in his head throughout the rest of the meal. The two conversed, with Marcus nodding along and congratulating Julia as she told him about her latest promotion and then taking notes when she began telling him about all the best places in town to try out.

Before Julia left for her Zumba class, she asked, “Are you going to go to the Pride parade this weekend? Trevor and I were planning on going—and knowing you’re gonna be here, I think it’d be neat for the two of you to formally meet.”

“I think I will, but I won’t exactly be there as myself.” Julia nodded, an understanding smile on her face, and wished him good luck. With the tab paid and his belly full, Marcus resumed his walk throughout the town with a much more energetic gait.

Tomorrow would be his first Pride parade as well.

Douglas Moore had been intending on spending the weekend quietly at home. He picked out a good book to read, he was planning on running the bath later that evening, and there was an unopened bottle of wine in the living room that had been teasing him all week to finally uncork it.

Yes, it's going to be a lovely weekend indeed, Douglas thought as he awoke to the sounds of the birds nesting by his windowsill gently awoke him with the lovebird symphony. He slowly sat up, blinking himself to full awoke ness, and then was forced back onto his bed immediately by an invisible force. He flopped on the mattress, shivering and moaning as a numbing sensation spread throughout his body. At first, he was concerned he was having some kind of heart attack before, all of a sudden, it subsided. Douglas was left breathless on his bed.

Slowly, he sat back up, rubbing his hands over his chest to check his on his racing heart. Yes, he felt fine, right? Hmm… for whatever reason, he was rubbing himself a bit more than he thought he needed, but better to be safe than sorry.

"Nrgh…!" Douglas' whole body shivered as he suddenly tweaked his nipple through his wifebeater. He hadn't expected such a sensitive reaction from just touching himself, but now that he was, he couldn't just ignore the rising tent in his boxers. "Shit, I'm like a hormonal teen," he muttered. He didn't expect to curse out of the blue like that, but he should cut himself some slack. What's the matter with a curse every once in a while so long as it was kept out of children's ears and away from the house of God?

Douglas was so caught up in these new thoughts that he didn't consider that, up until now, he never had any sort of inner narration like 50% of the population. Suddenly he was on the other camp, yet he didn't find it off-putting in the slightest.

He threw the blankets off his body with a flourish he never hand before and glanced down at himself as if witnessing his form for the very first time. He breathed in and out, seeing the chest rise and fall rhythmically. His wiggled his toes and waved his bare, hairy feet like they were some new-found novelty. Oh my, he thought, I don't know why I'm feeling so frisky but I kinda like it. So much of his life was spent being a prude, so why not enjoy the physique he had worked hard onto maintain? With that, he grabbed the rim of his boxers with both hands and threw it to the other side of the room. His cock, already hard and swinging in the air, looked like it needed attention.

"Nrgh…! Mmmf…! Love doing this shit!" Douglas cried out, jacking his meat with little shame. He couldn't remember the last time he was so enthusiastically choking his cock like this, but it felt so good! He couldn't get enough of it. He turned over so he lied on his belly and started humping the mattress. "Nrgh! Yeah, y-yeah! This is great…" he kept muttered, one hand tweaking his nipple while the bed covers enveloped his dick. "Haah…! Oh yeah. I-I'm… fuck, I'm fucking cumming…!" He cried out, his whole body curling up into a C as his twitching cock could take no more and started spewing out semen all over the sheets.

Douglas collapsed onto his own mess. "Heheh…! Think I went a little overboard," he said with an embarrassed yet still shameless titter. He rubbed the cum over his stomach like sunscreen. "There we go, all clean," he said. It was just fluids, after all. Only some immature prude would really make a big deal about cumming on the sheets. Today was laundry day, anyway.

Satisfied, Douglas swung his large legs to the side and had enough restraint to not leapt out of his bed. With a swagger normally reserved for big-shot athletes, he marched over to his closet, threw the door open, and recoiled in horror. "Oh no… oh no, no no no—oh this is dreadful," he muttered to himself as he went through each garment. "It's borderline terminal. Nothing even the tiniest bit bold of colorful." Douglas internally withered as his hands went through and rummaged through years of dull, mono-colored shirts and sweaters—only occasion finding a red or yellow that had grown faded from the years. When was the last time he had gone clothes shopping?

"It's been too long," he said, and he absolutely agreed. "I've got to get ready since I'll be preparing for today's Pride. Need something fashionable to wear. Don't need to look like a grandpa for the party over there."

Today's Pride? Douglas was surprised a this own words, but also more surprised at just how nonchalantly he was speaking to himself as well. But… this was his own decision. Yes, he wanted to go to pride of his own accord. Even though he couldn't recall knowing any details of the event or what he was supposed to do when he got there, he put on the least atrocious combinations of colors he could put on, scarfed down a plain breakfast, and rushed to the clothing store.

"Mmm… nice." Douglas had never been much of a fashion connoisseur, but there was something almost hypnotic about watching himself try on these different, much more colorful styles and pose in the mirror. On occasion, he would even wink to his own reflection. Once, he even leaned forward, both arms pressed up against the glass and shook his hips while panting with his tongue out. "Ohhh," moaned Douglas, quickly pressing his hand over his mouth. Even without anybody else int he fitting rooms, he couldn't help but be overwhelmed by all these emotions. Even better he really wanted to just tear of all these clothes and just start ravaging himself and bust his load all over the mirror.

Have I always been this good-looking? Douglas thought. No, it's because I'm finally giving a shit about my appearance like this.

"I think I've got a nice look down," he said, chuckling to himself and even giving a tiny flex in these fashionable clothes. "Bet all the handsome hunks will be thrilled to see a nice little DILF like this." And Douglas agreed. He'd give them all a nice little show as they marched down the streets.

As the young clerk rang up his purchases, Douglas noticed just how long his gaze lingered. He grinned and said, "Going to the pride after parties once your shift's over?"

The young man flinched but then shyly smiled. He nodded with a small, meek smile. "Knowing you'll be there, I think I can make the effort," he said, tittering. He took out a few bills from the register and handed Douglas his change. Douglas reached out, cupping the young man's hand and tenderly stroke it before taking his cash. The young man was fully blushing and left a stuttering mess.

"See you around," Douglas said with a killer, confident grin. He couldn't believe he had done that, but… he wanted to do it again. He wanted to make that clerk's whole body blush while ramming inside of him. As he walked back to his car, Douglas' cock was tenting up in his pants, but he walked around with little shame. "Why bother with shame?" he said outloud, walking around with a swagger only a hot older man could possess. "Keeping this hot body all to myself would be a disservice to the world. We got only one life, we gotta live it."

Douglas had heard that kinda nonsense all his life, but saying it himself just now… he was believing it. Hell, he was even living it.

The parade would start around noon, so Douglas wasted no time… is what he told himself. The truth was, as he took out the boring shirts and jeans he had on, he stopped and took a clear look at his reflection. He was oozing confidence he had no idea he could ever possess. So much of his his life was spent gazing at his own feet and awkwardly shuffling forward. Any flamboyance or even simple joy in life was swiftly beaten down by his father and older brothers. Being a real man was being a stoic, miserable wretch that until until he died—that was what they believed, and they firmly made sure Douglas believed the same thing. And for most of his life, he did.

But now—fresh shirt, suit, and colorful pants on—Douglas felt like he was truly alive. "Yup," he said to his own reflection, "this is what a real man looks like." It wasn't so much that he was looking a handsome man in the mirror, but rather that it was a a man who was finally able to make choice without worrying about what an outsiders might think. "Confident, nicely groomed, and ready to turn heads."

The energy of the parade was electric. People chanting, shouting, cheering, and marching forward with so much determination in their gazes and voices. Not a single one of them looked ashamed to be there, and Douglas was right there with them. He pumped his fist in the air, walking forward and catching people's eyes. So many people chatted him up, speaking and asking him so many questions as a 'queer unc.' He had no clue what that meant, but he still smiled and spoke with confidence.

It was during the aftermath that he started getting a more attention. "Heeey handsome." A younger man, shirtless and carrying a microphone, waved Douglas down. Trailing just a few steps behind was a cameraman. "Mind asking some questions for my channel? It's always nice interviewing some older gay men to get a fresh perspective."

The implications weren't lost on Douglas. He nodded and walked over. He asked some basic questions, and Douglas answered with mostly the truth. "I think I knew my whole life, but I wasn't quite ready to accept it until I was much older," he said, and he supposed that wasn't untrue. Ever since he was a child Douglas always felt like he was a tiny bit different than the other boys his age. He stared at the men in his life, gaze lingering a bit longer. "It took a while to let go of the shame. This is actually my first pride, but I think I'd like to attend more." He looked around, seeing all the different kinds of folks milling around and having fun. So many of them seemed relieved and at home. It felt like their own little slice of heaven here on earth.

"So, this is something I ask everyone I interview," the host said, "what does pride mean to you?"

Douglas took a deep breath. He had never given it much thought before. Honestly, in the past he figured that the whole thing was silly and the gays didn't need to make a whole parade over being who they were. "I think it's a way to express ourselves, and individuals," he began. "We were get labeled growing up, but I think part of maturing and growing into our own skin is taking these labels and using them not just to define ourselves but to show the world 'this is who I am. This is what I'm about.'"

Who I really am… Yeah, this is what I want the world to see me as. This is who I want to be. Queer and free.

"Pride is to celebrate that. It's like a big artshow, and the craft is ourselves. Our identities, our lives, our experiences—we're here to show all of ourselves to each other, and to make sure we're not all drowning in loneliness," he added, chuckling. "I think that's what pride is to me, and why it's so important."

"Interesting," the interviewer said, nodding. "Well, thanks for your time, and be sure to follow us at…"

I didn't realize I was so eloquent with words, thought Douglas. Perhaps it was time to get back into the arts, as well. With the passion he was speaking with it'd be a waste to not channel that one in a creative pursuit. Gays generally made for good artists, right? He was certain he heard about that somewhere before.

As the festivities wound down, Douglas found that same clerk from the show store. "So," he said as he approached, nearly making the younger man jump out of his skin, "you made it. So glad to see you. By yourself, though?"

"Ah, well…" said the young man, sheepishly scratching the back of his next. "I mean, not too many of my friends really know. And this isn't really their scene, so…"

Douglas nodded, empathizing with Steven. If anyone he knew saw him here… well, before he was certain he would've been panicking and pleading for them to not reveal this to anyone. but for whatever reason he no longer had that fear. If anyone saw me here, he thought, I'd tell them to fuck off and mind their own business. I'm a grown-ass man and can make my own choices and my own decisions.

Suddenly Douglas let out a groan as that weighty feeling vanished. That slight disassociation disappeared, and he truly felt like he was back in his own skin. Though strange, it didn't matter right now. "C'mon, then. Want me to show you around? There's still plenty to see, and a nice nightlife to check out afterwards." Douglas gently took the younger man's hand as he tried to strutter out a response. "Name's Douglas, but just Doug's fine. You?"

"St-Steven…" was all the young man was able to get out before Douglas pulled him along.

Neither of them saw the figure walking away, whistling to himself in satisfaction of a job well-done. Both just enjoyed what they night offered them.

Sequel to Day 21: Electricity

For much of his new life, Hans didn’t consider himself to be human—he simply wanted to have fun and enjoy the little hedonistic pleasures that came with no longer having a biological body and the ability to jump into other humans. That day he met that woman, he had jumped into the body of a man that had been talking just a bit too much trash during their online game.

“Let’s see how you like it,” taunted Hans as he slipped off the shirt, the shoes, the shorts, and tugged at this body’s cock through his underwear. Then, just to make sure he added insult to injury, he left the man’s house and wandered the suburbs, clad only through underwear that struggled to contain his new meat.

"I believe your talents are being wasted," a voice called out to him as he marched through the neighborhood. He looked up to see her, a woman in a wheelchair rolling towards him with a pleasant smile on her face and not at all bewildered at the sight of a young man walking around half-naked.

"Who the hell are you? Sorry, I'm not interested in a modeling contract."

"Oh, I'm not talking about your body. I'm talking about you," she said as though she could see right through him.

That bizarre opener began the strangest and longest friendship Hans ever had. "Wh-Who…? Who even are you?"

"My name is Helena Winters," said the odd woman, beaming brightly at him. "Would you join me in protecting humanity?"

Months later…

"You never told me what your powers even are," he said to Helena as they walked down the halls of the secret lair. Really, it was just some property that Helena owned and built a decent-sized manor on. All their troops, not many but about a dozen, were possessors and routinely came by to rest and recount their progress on various fronts.

"A lady must have her secrets," she said.

"And a commander doubly-so?"

"Exactly."

It was the day after Hans had spent his first day infiltrating the company invaded by those damn electric aliens. The two had spent a few hours stargazing and were now unwinding with a bit of wine from Helena’s secret stash. A few sips later, a soft red glow spread over Helena’s cheeks. Of course, Hans’ artificial body had a hard time getting drunk, as they all did. “Do you know where I was born, Hans?” Of course, Hans shook his head. Why would he have known something like that?

“I was born in the South Pole. I was born in the North Pole,” she had said with an enigmatic smile that suited her and pissed Hans off. “I came from the ice, and when the time comes, I will return to the ice.” He half-expected her to end by saying, “What am I?” but Helena never did.

Instead, she said, "Already, I can feel myself melting away."

Today, Hans felt like both his head and his psyche were in the process of being split apart. He wasn’t sure when was the last time he felt this way. It was probably when he still had his own physical body rather than this borrowed form, but even then his fevers had never been so intense. Was it just exhaustion? No, he certainly had a fever. The nurse that lived in this little compound had verified that.

He lied on his bed, holding a damp rag over his face as he tried to fall back asleep in this borrowed body supplied by Helena and her organization. Even when his essence dived inside the web, he still felt like he was burning up with a terrible fever. Better to be in a body to he could at least take some medication and try to cool himself off from whatever he got.

There was a gentle knock at his door. Hans sighed and shouted, “Come in!” just in case it was who he suspected was knocking.

The door to his room opened, and then click! went the lock. The irritating whir of Helena’s rusty wheelchair tires filled the room. Hans groaned and covered his ears with his pillow, but he eventually relented when Helena roughly tapped his leg. Sighing, he let go of the pillow and settled for folding his arms over his chest and glaring at the wall.

No wonder she locked the door, thought Hans. Probably didn’t want to be caught giving someone like me any favoritism. Just about everyone here remained under her command because she had personally convinced them to stay. She was a friend to them all, having that be the basis for their allegiance to her meant nobody could be more than a friend to her. If anyone did, her entire organization could fall apart with infighting.

So Hans understood, but hated it nonetheless. It always sucks not being anyone's first choice, Hans thought bitterly. He had been there before, and he refused to be a part of that again. Perhaps that was why he had been so okay with becoming what he considered to be a ‘bio-mechanical miracle.’

As Helena approached the bed, she tittered and said, “I forgot even computers gets viruses.” Hans rolled his eyes but said nothing. “How’re you feeling?” she said, her voice growing serious.

“Still feel like crap, but I’ll live," he said, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. It always felt weird whenever people showed such concern for him. He could never get used to it.

“Oh, that’s a relief,” she said softly. Her usual cheer seemed drained, and her voice still sounded quite somber. It felt… wrong for her to seem that way. Hans felt a pang of guilt inside. With him like this, their silent war wouldn’t be able to continue. What would happen while he was out of commission. He looked up to ask her, but was taken aback by the sight of her.

“What about you?” he said. Her hair was a mess, discolored bags hung below her eyes, and her skin was paler than normal. Her sunken cheeks suggested she may not have been eating well lately. To be honest, it looked like nothing has been going well for her. “You look like hell, too.” Once the words left his lips he immediately cringed. No longer having his own foot didn’t mean he couldn’t stick it in his mouth during these critical conversations.

Helena sighed and placed on her hands on Hans’ borrowed ones. She was cold—icy, even. It was as if she was halfway dead already. “I don’t think I’ll live to see the morning,” she said with little sadness in her soft, breathless voice. "So, in that sense, I suppose we're both sick. Sucks for us, huh?" she said, her gentle laugh interrupted by a dry coughing fit. They remained quiet for a few moments, wanting to say the world to the other but afraid that saying even a single word would break them.

As Hans expected, it was Helena that broke the silence. "I never did tell you what my power is, did I? I'm sorry, I didn't…" she paused to cough. "I didn't mean to lie to you. These people… they need a leader, Hans. They need someone to guide them. Otherwise…" she didn't dare say more.

He didn’t notice the glint of the steel until it was too late.A dagger, pulled from who knows were, was now embedded into his chest—right through the heart of this body she had given him. "I take no pleasure in this, but I cannot afford to lose your powers because you're on the brink. A leader must do what she can for her people to survive."

Despite Helena’s sharp words, her hands—still clutching the hilt of the dagger—trembled. Hans wasn’t sure which of the two she was trying to reassure. “I promise I’ll put them to proper use. I’ll live your life with the utmost respect, Hans. I promise you this.”

Ahhh, so that’s her ability, thoughts Hans. He managed one last wry smirk as he figured out the rest of Helena’s plans during his final breaths.

Before, back when he was still flesh and bone, he had never really thought about dying. It was only once this conflict started and he became the sole front-line force in it that he began to consider his own mortality, but the very idea was quickly dismissed. He was confident in himself and everything he did, including everyone he placed his faith in. Especially Helena.

Guess I really messed that one up, huh? Hans thought sardonically. Still, it’s kinda funny… He slowly turned his gaze from his injury to Helena’s face. There was no malice, no fury—only a deep sorrow. Even after everything, I just feel sorry for this girl.

Once again, it felt like he had placed her in a difficult position. No, not just him; the whole world did.

Already, his very existence was vanishing from this world. Memories went first, as they always did. Who among his old life would miss him? He couldn’t remember any of them, but they probably existed. Surely they did. He was certain, probably. They likely thought him dead. Oh well, at least now they can properly grieve someone they actually lost.

Still, with what little strength he had remaining, Hans placed a hand over Helena’s shaky grip and squeezed. “You gotta be way more… b-bloodthirsty if you’re… g-gonna win, Helena,” Hans choked out.

She stared at him, mouth agape in horror.

“Do it,” he continued. “S-Save… yourself. Live. Mankind is second. It should… a-always be second.”

There was no point in self-sacrifice. Until his dying breath he believed in that—and he was desperate for Helena to believe it, too.

Guess… this essence of mine… really was a miracle, were his final thoughts before Hans ceased to exist in this world.

Transition was always difficult, but for non-formal armies it was even more so. Hans, being careful to show too much emotion—something he did when was truly upset, announced to the whole organization that Helena had passed. The whole room cried out in distress at the results. “What’ll happen with the war? All the meetings she had been attending?” Those were the more common cries that echoed throughout the crowd. It seemed like silence would never come until a boom voice thundered over the cacophony.

“QUIET!”

All turned to the unlikely source, a panting Hans with a red face and a sore throat. He had overestimate how much strain a shout like that would cause. Still, in the moment, it had felt good to have command of such lungs. “The war continues,” he said, speaking at a much more comfortable volume. “Helena’s gone, that’s not gonna change, but her will lives on. Through me, though us. I promised her I’d protect humanity from these invaders, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do! It’s the same for the rest of us. We watch over humanity, we create peace in this world, and we keep each other safe and in-check. So, when we see her again—wherever we’re all going—we can tell her just how good of a job we did. For her.”

The room remained silent. Not a word escaped any of their lips. Then, a clap from just one person. Another joined in, and soon the energy from Hans’ words began to eclipse the crowd’s concerns. They grew confident and began to believe in this new voice that bellowed such bold words.

Internally, Hans wondered which leadership style would be superior in the coming days; strict and domineering to compliment his new powerful masculinity, or a more gentle and motherly way that was more akin to Helena’s old femininity? But, the new Hans thought as he made his way to his room, I suppose it doesn’t matter. It’s all me in the end.

He lied down on his bed and took a whiff while stifling a sob that threatened to escape. Hans’ scent…

Helena died, and yet she lived on, possessing Hans. Not quite his borrowed body, but his essence. The secret Helena kept to herself until her last moments was the ability to take over possessors. The original Hans was gone now, replaced by this impostor couldn't stop these hot tears of spilling on the bed.

“Live,” was the final thing Hans had said—an implicit consent to what had happened to him. And yet, as the new Hans smelled the scent of the man he had killed, he so verily wished he could join his dear friend and cease to exist.

This one is particularly long, so I've decided to put it under a Read More.

Randy Ashford was a tough son-of-a-bitch. Chase Fisher had experience with him. But lately, something about him seemed to change.

It only really hit him when said hardass suggested a place like a combination bar arcade as a way to rewards the hard workers of the police precinct. It was four top-of-the-line officers sitting opposite of four pencil-pushers, and Chase had the awesome privilege of having been on both sides.

One accident was enough to take his promising career as a police officer into just being another office-slave handling paperwork and being the object of mockery and ridicule for the able-bodied officers that loved to pass down their grunt work to him. And the one who had caused said accident was the one sitting opposite of Chase but refused to meet his eyes, an attractive young man by the name of William Barrows.

Tall, handsome, and master of an easy-going grin that hid his sadistic nature. It was him who broken Chase's knee, and then played it off as an accident. Even after months of recovery and physical therapy, Chase was left to keep walking around with a limp. His career was done.

Will had never apologized. Even if it had been an accident, he made no effort to clear the air or even offer to assist Chase whenever the pain in his leg visibly impaired him.

Today, we have a tale that will make very little sense until a certain points afterwards, so enjoy how much you don’t understand, my dear reader.

Our protagonist today is a young man named Mario, fresh out college and already having landed a job as an assistant coach in the college he attended due to nepotism—er, his dedication to teaching and guiding others, as he would often say. He was also, unbeknownst to him, recipient of an untested, recently-developed spell. Because of the nature of such spells, he has become a sort of… carrier. It’s not a disease, but it wouldn’t be inaccurate to compare it as such. And the cause of this little ailment is his younger brother, the college junior Alfonso, but more on him at a later date.

Mario was an assistant coach for Coach Hernandez, who was taking charge and helping the college’s swimming team practice to keep in shape for the upcoming Fall semester. This week, Coach Hernandez was in vacation with his wife in Hawaii, so the swim team was relying on Mario to help them train and manage the facilities so they could keep up their routine throughout the summer. Because of that, Mario had to wake up extremely early in morning, something he was already quite accustomed to; which is why he was so surprised when he woke up late and had the type of morning he did.

Since getting up, Mario found himself unable to focus on anything for a significant point of time. He honestly couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him. His brain was foggy, he was constantly misplacing things, and he had a hard time getting everything organized. Come to think of it, his father—a rather well-put together and sharp-minded man—seemed have the same issue that morning as well. For Christ’s sake, the man has been walking around the house without his pants on. So maybe there was some kind of bug passing around. However, Mario didn’t have a lot of time to think about that. Honestly, he felt as though he had no time at all, considering how late he was getting to the university’s pool.

When Mario arrived, panting and sweaty, to practice about forty-five minutes late. Most of the men there were already getting their feet wet or doing warm-ups. A few were on their phones, though they did look up to glare at Mario as he approached. Embarrassed, Mario blew his whistle and began barking orders at the team to get some semblance of organization going. There was some grumbling from the team about his tardiness, but Mario tried his best to ignore those and focused on getting them back on track.

Of course, Mario couldn’t keep very good track of the team’s times, either. He found himself staring at the swimmers’ bodies instead of their techniques or their speed. When several of the members came up to him asking for how they could improve or what their times were like, all Mario could do was reply with empty compliments or flat critiques. “Focus a bit more of keeping your motions smooth… breathe as much as you can while going up for air…” Seeing several faces turn crestfallen as they received no useful advice broke Mario's heart, but he had no idea what else he could do for the poor swimmers.

What the hell is wrong with me? Mario thought, rubbing his forehead as though he had a fever. He had never felt any sort of attraction towards men, but now… all he could do was focus on the way their bulges bounced in their speedos and their muscles that flexed as they swam in the water.

After a few agonizing hours of this, Mario called the team over and gave them their praises. “Many of you showed initiative today, and I recognize that,” he said, not missing several of the swimmers giving each other bemused looks. Still, he tried to remain professional, and that included thinking unsexy things to keep his erection under control. “Y-Yes, well… I believe this team has a great shot at the next swim meet. All of you, keep practicing, keep challenging—and supporting—each other, and I will see you all next Monday. Dismissed!”

Then, after the most dispirited chorus of “Yes, sir,” Mario hustled over to the coach's office while trying to keep a casual appearance.. Not only did he have to get away from all of these hot, sexy swimmers, he also had some nasty gurgling in his stomach. He felt as though he might throw up. Passing through the men’s locker rooms, he burst into Coach Hernandez’s office, Mario’s for now, and tried to calm his breathing. Memories of throwing up when he was a child got him nearly hyperventilating. Not again, he did not want to go through that shit ever again.

Knock, knock, knock!

Time passed.

Knock, knock, knock!

It was far too many knocks for him to ignore. Sighing, Mario tried to compose himself and prayed this wouldn’t take too long as he wandered over to the door.

To his surprised, it wasn’t just one disgruntled swimmer, but three of them. Mario only knew of their names because the three of them had apparently decided that Mario was far too lonely and needed friends that were somewhat around his age. Leading the three was a young man named Evan, who was the quintessential all-American boy with a magazine cover-worthy smile.

“Heya there, coach. I was—you good?” His irritated scowl quickly turned to a look of concern as he saw Mario struggling to remain standing.

“Yeesh, you look like garbage. Got a summer fever or something?” The shorter and by far most annoying of the three was named Davis.

The last of the three was named Ray, a tall and stoic young man who hardly said a word, but somehow Mario could tell that he was also worried.

Mario weakly shrugged. It was difficult for him to respond because he was far too afraid to open his mouth. He tried to do something, anything, to assure them that he was fine, but in doing so he nearly lost his balance. He would’ve fallen if Evan hadn’t rushed forward his support for Mario to stand.

“Goddamn, coach. Is this why you were late? Wish you had been more honest earlier!” said Evan as he guided Mario back inside the office and towards desk chair. Ray and Davis trailed after them, Davis running his mouth about something or other until Ray lightly smacked the back of his head. Even shot them a quick glare before telling Mario, “You should really trust us more often, coach. We’re your buddies, remember?”

Mario frowned wryly at Evan, but grimaced as another surge of pain shot throughout his body. It was getting worse. The gurgling, the pain… he wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to hold it together. Was he going to vomit in front of all these nice hunks? After they did such a good job being nice eye-candy for him all day? Was that any way to thank them? He had never really been attracted to men before, but what was so wrong about surrendering to these urges completely? There was nothing wrong with that.

He thought back to that one argument that his younger brother had—about how homosexuality was observed in various species of social animals. Most of them Mario couldn’t remember off the top of his head, but he was certain that there were multiple, enough that it couldn't be denied.

But there was no time to consider that. Evan’s hands were still touching Mario and caressing his back. The pain was still there, and intensifying every moment. And of course, the other two chose that moment to crowd around and gawk at him. It is nice, thought Mario allowed them to worry about him, to have all these attractive men fawn and care about me. Is this a kind of power fantasy? That should’ve been his first red flag. Mario’s mind having any amount of literary knowledge should’ve informed him that his mind was no longer just his own. However, he was far too caught up in the moment for him to acknowledge it. Maybe I died and went to heaven.

If that was the case, I need to thank them. And so he opened his mouth to do so, but nothing heavenly came afterwards. In fact, what rushed out of Mario's mouth could only be described as coming straight out of hell. As his lips parted, out shot a stream of bright, pink bubbles which quickly filled the closed office. The three swimmers cried out in shock and confusion as pink foam filled their vision and invaded their orifices. They slapped their arms and hands around in a panic, trying to pop the bubbles but it was already far too late. By the time the room cleared up, the trio collapsed and began convulsing on the office floor.

Mario stared in confusion. He should’ve been horrified at seeing three young men on the ground, shaking as their tight, hot bodies struggled against some kind of invisible force invading them, but he couldn’t help but rub his cock through his pants as he stared. What was so appealing about seeing these men suffer and have their minds rewritten? He wasn’t sure, but he did know how hot it was for him.

Minds… rewritten? Those thoughts weren’t his own, he was certain of that. Knowledge he shouldn't know about was bouncing around in his head, as if there was another mind inside his skull and would occasionally jump in to mess around with the controls in his brain. But, in a way, that was its own relief. If Mario was merely the victim of some other force, then what did it matter if he just went with the flow? Swimming against the current just exhausted you.

His eyes focused on the closest one to him. Evan. He knelt down and straddled Evan’s convulsing body on his lap and began to gently stroke his cheek. How had he not noticed how handsome Evan was? How cute his youthful looks were. Mario was just a few years younger but was deeply jealous of just how flawless Evan’s skin was.

Then, the convulsions slowed until finally the three swimmers were lying still. Evan’s eyes snapped open first and immediately focused on Mario. “W-Well, hello…” Mario stammered out, smiling awkwardly at the odd position they now found themselves in. To his disappointment, Evan rose up to a seated position, legs criss-crossed, and began to orient himself. He blinked and glanced down at his body, running his hands down his torso and then flexing his arms. Just a few feet away, his fellow swim club members began doing the same thing. “A-Are you okay…?” Mario asked, but on a subconscious level he knew the answer was far more complex than that.

Evan glanced at Mario and shuffled forward. He brought a hand up and wiped away a few drops of sweat—or perhaps they were tears—from Mario’s face. Then, he leaned in for a deep, sensual kiss. Their tongues met as they shared hot breaths between the two of them. Mario flinched back, breaking the kiss, before going with the flow once more and kissing Evan again. Ray and Davis began to jeer while Mario hungrily drank in as much of this taboo bliss as he could. His hands pushed forwards and groped Evan's chest, caressing the soft pecs before trailing down and tracing the various muscles down there.

Evan drew back and gently broke the film of saliva that still bridged their two lips, but he still caressed Mario's cheek with one hands while squeezing his thigh with the other.

“C’mon, Evan! No fair,” said Davis with a pout. “Leave some for the rest of us.”

“…” Ray didn't verbally express his displeasure, but his intense glare was enough to even shake Mario’s newly-found blissful composure. Even without any words, Ray was able to express his dissatisfaction with the scene before him. “…”Once more, this time with even more feeling, if such a thing was even possible.

Evan shot the two a smirk as he kept rubbing and squeezing Mario. “Early worm gets the old man cock, bros. Everybody knows that!”

“I’m only a couple years older than you guys,” muttered Mario, far too swept up to care too much about the discussion. He knew that baldness might eventually come for him soon, considering his father, but all this talk about how old he was made him want to schedule an appointment for a hair transplant quickly. His family, especially his younger brother, had already been cracking jokes about his thinning hair and receding hair line, the bastards.

Davis, Ray, and Evan continued arguing until one of them one loudly (in his own way) suddenly shared a brilliant idea. “…!” As if struck by lightning, Ray’s eyes lit up. A few animated gestures; of which Mario only barely got the gist of; later, all three of the swimming hunks stared at Mario like hungry sharks. For his part, Mario—far too shaken up by the past few hours, gave little resistance as the three descended upon him like vultures on a fresh carcass.

He was lying down on a lock room bench. His sun-kissed flesh shivered as the much stronger men made him their meal. Ray, sitting down in front of him and still towering over everyone, spread Mario’s legs. On the opposite side was Evan, who held Mario by the wrists and was rubbing his own erect cock, covered only by the thin cloth of his speedo, against Mario’s cheek. Meanwhile, Davis rubbed his own cheek against the fabric of Mario’s jockstrap (as it was summer break) and was itching to tear it off to get at the erect cock already leaking precum just beneath.

“Yooo, check out how hard coach is!” Davis shouted as he pulled the thin fabric to the side and revealed the flopping hard-on. “Oh wow, I think he’s even more hung than I am!”

Evan scoffed. Using one of the bench’s corners, he pulled down his own speed and lightly smacked Mario’s cheek with his cock. The latter let out a moan as his whole body shivered in an odd mix of fear and anticipation.

“Like that’s hard to pull off," Evan scoffed at Davis before focusing back on Mario. "I gave ya a kiss with my lips already, coach. It’s only right your pair services my cock next.” Mario didn’t bother replying. The past few hours had already eroded the logical part of his brain, and he was far too afraid of admitting just how excited he was to get face-fucked to reply.

I-I’ve hard sex before, with tons of girls! S-So why does this feel like my first time. Guess I’ve never done it in public before, especially with men—three of them, even! Mario glanced over at Ray and balked. His dick was huge! Monstrous, even! How did this guy walk around with this thing between his legs?

“…” Ray’s blank stare made Mario too self-conscious to ask.

“Let’s begin this little team-building exercise,” said Evan. Mario opened his mouth and nearly gagged when Evan forced most of his inches down his throat. He shivered and let out a muffled cry as Ray teased his hole by tracing circles on it with his large, girthy cock. Then, Mario flinched and struggled against the tight hold the two swimmers had on him as Davis began deep-throating his cock. He kept licking up and down the shaft of Mario's dick like a lollipop. Already there was precum dripping from the tip, and Davis made him to lick it all clean.

“MRGH! MMRFFGH...!” Never in his life did Mario think this would happen for him, used and abused by these college jocks for their own lustful ends. But… it wasn’t just for them. No, Mario knew that, deep inside—far deeper than he could ever imagine—he needed this to happen, and they needed this too. There was something linking the four of them—more than lust, but a need. And it completed them. No, not quite. It brought them a sense of fulfillment, but they weren’t quite complete.

And only when I’m getting stuffed like this, thought Mario, moving his hips and shifting to better handle the two cocks penetrating him, that I am even close to feeling fulfilled.

It felt like he was in some pornography just for him. Evan howled in pleasure, laughing with tears streaming down his eyes as Mario made sure to tease the tip of his cock with his tongue. Ray let out a few surprised grunts as Mario expertly squeezed his cock and couldn't accept him pulling out. With each thrust, Mario tightened his hole, unable to bear having his ass be so empty for even a second. He needed to be plugged, and luckily for him Ray slammed into him harder with each thrust. Both of the men writhed in pleasure as Mario’s pleasured them both.

Ah, dear god…! The way that Davis was blowing him…! The guy put practiced whores to shame the way he just gobbled down on Mario’s cock like a pro. Mario couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous, but far too much of his brain was occupied enjoying the way Davis fit the whole thing down his warm throat. The way be could fondle Mario’s sensitive balls from time to time—making the older man’s brain short-circuit—and how he’d even plant some small kisses up and down the shaft as he worked it.

Mario smacked his head against the wooden bench, his mind having a complete meltdown as pleasured coursed all of his body. This was his fate—to be used as a dirty cum-slut for these men. And to be frank, he didn’t mind at all. If anything, he was a little disappointed. If only the entirety of the swim team was here. Oh, if only he had more holes to get stuffed and filled by more men!

“F-Fuck, aww, fuck yeah! Slutty coaches are the best!” said Even in-between pants. “Oh if only Coach Hernandez was like you, Mario!”

“Mffrgh, mm-hmm!” Davis said, his own mouth full of cock.

“…” Ray nodded and gave his own approval.

“Coach Hernandez will be like us soon,” said Davis, letting the cock slid from his lips. Despite the sinister and sadistic tone in his voice, this was still very clearly Davis speaking. “This thing’ll spread beyond us, beyond Coach Mario, even the swimming meet, even. Every last man will become like us, whether they want to or not.” There was an eerie glint in his eyes as he spoke. It was Davis, but also something else.

If Mario had his wits together he might’ve noticed how such a monologue somehow resembled how Mario’s younger brother would talk sometimes—just busting out performative soliloquies during the plays he would put on with the rest of the drama club.

Ray suddenly burst out laughing, caressing his muscles as he kept thrusting into Mario. The shock of such an occurrence nearly caused the other three men to freeze in their tracks and stared at him. But then Evan continued pumping his cock, rubbing his smooth body. Flashes of pink danced across their eyes—and the two easily became transfixed in their own bodies just as much as they were with Mario’s rougher, hairier form. The same happened for Davis as well. He threw his head back, eyes tinted pink, and then he began caressing his round, fuckable ass as he continued sucking Mario off.

It was if the three were more than just in sync. A force was filling all three of their souls and allowing them to become something beyond human. Their minds were slowly melding into one—the walls that separated their souls and upheld their individuality began to wane. Ray and Evan clasped their hands together as they painted both of Mario’s soft, silky-smooth hole completely white. “Ohhh, coach!” shouted Ray with Evan's, “your ass if a gift from god! Fuck, ahhh! I’m fucking cumming!”

“Nrgh… Mmmff…!” Evan said, silent as he came.

Hands now free, Mario clasped David’s head and pushed it down as much as he could down his cock and pumped his own loads down David’s throat—straight into his stomach—as the swimmer pumped his own cock and came all over the floor. Mario remained slack on the bench, breathing heavily. He was covered in sweat, exhausted, and feeling fuller than he ever did in his life.

But of course they weren’t done with him. Mario continued being used like a cheap sex toy by the three. Three virile athletes would not be satisfied by just cumming once.

Ray loved using Mario’s chest in a pec-job while Evan blew his load all over Mario’s hair. The three of them greedily made out in the communal shower while Mario was on his knees, servicing their cocks to quench the lustful fire within himself. He was exhausted, but he couldn’t stop himself. Feeling those warm cocks down his throat and being covered in cum satisfied him in a way that he couldn’t explain. He wasn’t just physically full, but emotionally full. These three used him, but there was something warm in this relationship between them. Blood was thicker than water, but cum was thicker than them both.

Davis, Ray, and Evan toweled themselves off after another day of training. Before, all three of them had unique reasons for competing. Evan had done all of this to help pay for college; David loved all the attention he got from winning; and Ray, stoic as ever, did it to connect with his even more anti-social and stoic father. Now? Things had changed, and the three were thrilled about it. Their original goals remained, but they had another reason to compete for: their love for each other, themselves, and the need to spread.

As they dried off, they couldn’t help but admire their own bodies. Ray continued giggling to himself as he played with the air on his happy trail and his pits. It was more than the clean-shaved Davis and Evan—who didn’t grow nearly as much body hair as he did.

Davis’ hands kept finding themselves rubbing, smacking, and even teasing his own ass and rim. Every part of him was sensitive, and Davis couldn’t help but just continue teasing and groping himself. He shook his hips a few times and loved the attention from the lustful Ray and Evan.

Speaking of Evan, he kept flexing and taking selfies of himself. There were simply far too many good sides, and he wanted to try and capture them all. So much so that Ray had to smack the back of his head and remind him to hurry and get changed. “We got shit to do,” said Davis in a tone reminiscent of Ray.

“Yo coach!” Ray called out with the boyish charm Davis usually had. “You good?”

Mario was barely able to respond. Legs trembling and asshole still leaking cum, stumbled out of the communal-style showers and leaned against the wall for support. “I-I’ll be fine,” he said in-between pants. He looked at the scene before him. These three couldn’t be anymore different and yet the grin they all wore was familiar to Mario. It was the same stupid, dopey grin Alfonso always wore when he was zoning out.

Yes, somehow Alfonso had something to do with this. But instead of getting heated as he tended to do when thinking about that fool, Mario became flushed as he felt an uncontrollable wave of arousal wash over him again. Fuck, he though, gonna make that motherfucker cry uncle when I get his cock up my fat ass…! Fuck, he was hard again, and in front of these students, too. What was happening to him. It felt like his head would explode from all the thoughts racing through it! And this horrible, untamable sex drive… It was as if another mind was inside of his head and wanted to call all the shots. And frankly, Mario wasn’t entirely opposed to that idea.

“Gonna go visit your brother?” Evan called out, breaking Mario out of his stupor. “I can tell by the boner you’ve got again,” Evan laughed. “Well, me and the boys are gonna be heading out now.” Mario glanced over. A day ago the sight would’ve left him slack-jawed. Now, it felt completely ordinary. Evan had his arms around around Ray and Davis’ shoulders the two kept groping and prodding Evan through his clothes. They just couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. It went beyond love and lust; devotion and depravity; it was something grotesquely beautiful—enough so that it almost made Mario want to weep from the sheer beauty of it.

“One of Ray’s cute friends is working at the ice cream bar just down the street. We figured we’d spread to him. Good luck rearranging your guts on your cute li’l bro’s cock!”

It had started out a typical day for a trio of friends: Ed, Gabriel, and Niles. The three were college-aged students that enjoyed high-jacking and using the bodies of the various students in their dorm room for debauchery. Most days, they would either jack off by themselves or indulge in a little three-way action. Today, as it tended to be, was a case of the latter, as the trio found themselves in the bodies of the swimming team hunks that lived in the same apartment complex.

“Nrgh…! Fuck, this body feels too good!” cried out Ed as he was pounding his dear friend Niles in the ass while Gabe was eating him out. He flexed his arms, amazed at the amount of muscle he had packed on just by being inside of this guy’s body. He was a foreign exchange student from Spain or something, Ed had no idea who he was but he knew just how hard he wanted this body. “C’mon, give it to me, give it to me!”

But suddenly the sensation of having this cherry popped suddenly stopped. “Hey, c’mon, what the fuck?!” he cried out, turning over to see what was the problem.

Gabe held up the smartwatch his host was wearing. “We’re running out of time,” he said, pointing out they only had two minutes to leave before… something happened? Honestly, Ed wasn’t paying much attention, and with Niles’ warm and tight stolen ass engulfing his penis in anal nirvana it was even harder to recall Gabe’s advice.

“It’s not safe being inside of these bodies for too long!” warned Gabe. “Shit, I-I’m getting out of here. See y’all later!” His host began to convulse as a spectral light appeared in his core and traveled up his chest and out his mouth. His former host’s hard cock spewed his load all over Ed’s borrowed ass before collapsing on the floor.

Ed rolled his eyes. “C’mon Niles, you really wanna leave right now?” he said while thrusting deep inside Niles’ borrowed holes.

“Hrmf…! Mmmff…!” was all Niles was able to say, clutching the sheets with his knuckles as he locked his legs around Ed’s borrowed waist.

“Hell yeah! Knew you’d seen things my way.” Ed went wild of pounding Niles, grabbing his waist as he thrust in and out like Niles was his own personal fucktoy. “Yeah, yeah…! Fuck, it feels so good! Damn!” He smacked Niles’ stolen thighs a few times, eliciting a delighted moan from him with each meaty slap as the flesh jiggled from the fucking.

“Haargh…! I-I’m cumming! Take my load, whore!” Ed shrieked, collapsing on top of Niles’ body and gripping him hard as he came hard all over Niles’ inside. From beneath him, Niles was writhing and screaming out in pleasure as he came and splattered cum all over their chests.

Even as his stolen cock was softening, Ed couldn’t help but keep humping Niles a bit longer—enjoying the sensation of Niles’ cum spread throughout their chests.

But of course, all good things came to an end. The two convulsed and shivered as their souls exited their spent hosts.

Ed let out a sigh of relief. He grinned, shivering as he felt the aftermath of jacking off and cumming in another’s body. It had been so intense that, wait… ohhh…

—F-Fuck yeah!— he bellowed out, his own cock making a mess on his sheets before he realized something was wrong. —The hell is this? Oh… oh shit, I gotta go talk to Gabe!— he said, nearly yanking the hair off his scalp. Internally, Ed was fuming. He couldn’t even enjoy the sensation of cumming his insides out, and it was all likely Gabe’s fault, too. Little asshole. He should’ve warned Ed this might happen!

Gabriel pushed up his glasses as he took in all of Ed’s story in-between the ranting and ramblings. “I see,” he said, his own punctuation perfectly unchanged. “Well, I imagine these are the marks your host uses. Since you stayed in his body beyond the time limit I warned you about, this particular trait of his found itself in you, now.” Despite the graveness of his words, Gabe was still smirking as spoke. “This is what I meant when I warned you that we couldn’t stay inside other bodies for so long. Now you see what you get when you ignore punctuality.”

—¡Fuck you, man!— Ed cried out. —¿What am I supposed to do now? ¿Am I supposed to live the rest of my life without any quotation marks?— Ed grimaced as he felt those upside down question marks appear in his words. —It looks really stupid seeing English with these marks at the end of my words. Feels like I’m being interrupted all the time, and it just looks all awkward, y’know.—

Gabe bristled at that. “Y’know, whenever they localize stories for a foreign market, the punctuation is changed for the new audience. You act like this is something new, — he said.

—Watch out there, you’re mixing them up. You’re gonna end up confusing the reader, —warned Ed.

“You’ve got far too little faith. I always believe in the ingenuity of our readers, I said.”

—Now you’re just misplacing them.—

“And for the NSFW version of this post, please check this link.”

—¡I’m not clicking that! I’ll probably get a nasty virus or something weird in my computer.—

“M y c o c k i n B i o.”

—I’m definitely not clicking on that. So, ¿how long until this is out of my system?—

“Ah, well, uhm… hmm…I can tell you this: I can’t really say; afraid I’m kinda stumped with that one.”

Ed narrowed his eyes. He really did not enjoy just how many different punctuation marks Gabe was throwing at him. It almost felt like he was being mocked. —¿Have you never seen this before? ¿Am I going to be screwed for the rest of my life? ¿Will it really run out?—

“It should, it should!” Gabriel insisted. “Listen, if it doesn’t then I’ll be sure to fix it myself someway, somehow. For now, I would say just keep calm and try not to aggravate yourself too much. You just might make it worse, and I don’t want to have to deal with that nonsense.”

Ah, so Gabriel had a serious side to him. It was rare, but a pleasant sight nonetheless. Though Ed lacked sophistication, he could at least appreciate the sincerity he was putting on, even if it sounded like total bullshit.

“Oh? Hey, I think Niles is back,” said Gabriel. As if on queue, a loud and almost irritating moan filled the whole apartment. Niles always did have a pair of lungs on him. “Let’s hope his symptoms are a lot less severe than your own.”

Niles stepped outside of the room clad in just a pair of briefs. He looked between his two friends, beaming the whole time, and began to speak:

"Hey, what’s up guys—oh hold on, what’s going on?!„ And so, another headache occurred between the three friends.

There was something so sexy to Stephen Doyle about watching some kind of strange, unassuming creature exploring its environment while having taken over the body of another human. “Amazing,” said the creature who had, just a few weeks ago, been his college roommate—a young man named Gabriel, a 2nd generation mixed race guy with roots in just about every race, though he usually just referred to himself as Latino.

Stephen didn’t talk to Gabe much; though he did have to admit he was quite the looker, and certainly a bit of a charmer; he just knew vague details about the guy after skimming through Gabriel’s application for the cultural exchange program. Gabe had asked for his help during the process (Stephen was trying to become a lawyer and had plenty of experience scouring through long and dry papers).

What program? Well...

The year was about 2032. Mankind was no longer alone. Though the past few decades had been turbulent with the threat of nuclear annihilation, invasion, broken treaties, and a dinner party that nearly lead to the end of all sentient life on the planet, the world had finally calmed down. For the first time in years, species big and small were able to take each other’s hands and move forward into the future.

Part of that step was the Cultural Exchange Program throughout universities on all corners of the world. Due to his financial situation (and what Stephen assumed was undiagnosed ADHD), Gabriel had chosen to take part in such a program to reap the benefits they offered. And the result was a parasite—no, Stephen shook his head as he tried to eliminate such a word from his vocabulary while describing the Pommeterians. Too much blood had been spilled on both sides, and to not honor that was to allow those sacrifices to go on in vain. The results were a symbiotic race of people that used hosts bodies in order to experience the world and build their societies. While initially hostile in peace treaties, the voluntary hosts from humanity and the willingness to co-exist allowed for peace to come for the two species.

And for people like Stephen, a new way to explore one’s sexuality. “So, c-can he hear what you’re doing and saying?” he asked, eager to learn more. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Gabriel’s body as it looked down at himself, inspecting the various limbs and muscles he now controlled.

The Pommeterian stopped and stared at Stephen. This being the first time in a human body, it was not particularly good at facial expressions yet. That was fine, Stephen found those difficult to master as well. “I… Hmm… perhaps we should share names, first,” he said. “I will be your roommate for the rest of the semester, after all.”

Gabriel’s hands were trembling. What was he going to do? Stephen stealthy grabbed a pillow and placed it on his lap to hide erection. The anticipation was killing him.

Then, Gabriel’s body brought its fingers together and raised it up about halfway—just about his stomach—palm facing down. “My name is Argophlux, of the Shayd Clan. Th-This is a handshake, correct? I’ve seen a few videos and clips about your customs, s-so…” Although his face and voice remained a bit flat, there was no denying the slight blush that crept upon his cheeks, nor how red his ears were turning. "Now I'm starting to realize that those videos may not have been entirely accurate."

Stephen’s cock softened, but his heart began to flutter. “Here. Let me.” With a gentle demeanor like a knight from a fairy tale, Stephen held Gabriel’s hand and carefully guided Argophlux through the proper steps. “Like this,” he said, fingers intertwined as they shook their hands together.

“Ahh…! It’s… it feels so quaint. So good. Feeling our palms connected, it's as if our souls are becoming entangled!" Argophlux exclaimed. Stephen nodded, his cheeks flushed. "You have my thanks, my friend.” The flatness in his voice remained, but Stephen could sense the sincerity from him. “And your name…?”

“Stephen Doyle, but just Stephen is fine. To be honest, I’ve heard so much about your kind, but seeing you now… Yeah, you’re just like us.”

“Like you?”

Stephen nodded. “Yeah, like I don’t really get any of these people, either.” He gestured towards the outside window, where people were hanging around the large lawn near the student union. Summer was stubbornly hanging on, and so most of the student body was enjoying the warm weather and perfectly going through the motions of interactions with not even a hint of difficulty that Stephen usually had. “Honestly, it’s fascinating looking at you. It's like I'm looking... no, never mind," he said, shaking his head.

To call Argophlux a mirror would just be pure arrogance. He didn't know him well enough to make such a comparison. But, seeing how similar they were… it felt as though Stephen could see another spectrum of himself, like when light goes through a prism and allows one to see the entire spectrum of color. Somehow, it felt like Stephen could see something about himself he hadn't quite understood until now.

And not only that… he rose from his chair and crawled on Gabe’s bed. He approached Argophlux, who didn’t withdraw or even seem the slightest bit uncomfortable. Their noses were almost touching. Their chest, rising and falling in an anxious rhythm, were almost in sync. Slowly, Stephen raised and hand and cupped Gabe's cheek.

“Can Gabriel see what you’re doing?” asked Stephen.

Argophlux nodded. “Yes, and he speaks to me. He tells me many things. And one such thing is that he wants you to keep going.” Stephen froze at those words. He stared deep into Gabe’s eyes, and he could’ve sworn the real Gabe stare back with a deep, longing look. A trick of the light, or was Stephen just seeing what he wanted to see?

Argophlux took the lead. He tackled Stephen onto the bed and pinned him down with Gabe’s body. Now the two were panting as they stared at each other, their crotches touching and the heat fully shared between them. “I’ve seen clips of it, once,” said Argophlux, Gabe’s lips quivering as he spoke. “I-I’ve always found humans… so fascinating. I-Interesting. I… I’ve been wanting… to touch you all. To feel these sensations you’ve had the privilege of feeling.” With one hand, he traced Stephen’s lips. “Have you ever kissed anyone before? Can you show me how?”

Stephen nodded. “I’ll show me many things. You and Gabe both.”

Their legs intertwined, and Argophlux lowered Gabe’s body so he was resting on Stephen’s. Their lips touched, and soon their clothes were discarded so they could feel the other’s flesh in their raw, passionate, and unorthodox three-way.

Humanity and the Pommeterians had many things to learn from each other indeed.