#age change

这篇文章的原文是中文，我使用了翻译器。文章的后半部分是中文原文本，如果翻译阅读时有不准确之处，你可以试着对比原文本重新翻译。

This is an IF scenario with altered timelines: the main element is that Thistle is several decades older than in the original timeline!

Thistle’s parents had once lived in an elven settlement, but for various reasons, they left their homeland. On the way to the Eastern Continent, Thistle was born. At that time, although the Eastern Continent had no dominant powers, the difficult transportation and lack of communication made most locals extremely xenophobic. They regarded Thistle’s family with a mixture of disdain and fear, avoiding the mysterious magic they possessed. Thistle’s parents lived in extreme poverty—they had no land and could only survive as itinerant merchants. At one point, they almost sold Thistle, but in the end, they could not betray their own conscience and raised him.

Thistle had no friends. Even the still-innocent local children grew faster than him, and the adults despised him, often warning their own children not to interact with his family. Most of the time, Thistle was left alone, only occasionally helping his parents with work.

He could not feel deep affection from his parents, nor could he sense anything but discrimination and suspicion from those around him. His nature was inherently innocent and resolute, and this environment shaped him to be independent, quiet, and even somewhat sharp-edged—especially when he was certain he had done nothing to compromise his conscience or dignity. Fortunately, these experiences never broke his own self-respect.

By the time he was around 40 or 50, he had already started working on his own, though he still returned home most of the time. Despite being young, he had already displayed magical talent. Although he remained poor, he was far better off than when he had been entirely dependent on his parents—no longer having to “rely on his parents to live” gave him a greater sense of security.

He lived independently like this for 30 to 40 years and gradually regained some reputation in the region. Although those who had always distrusted him would never reconcile, many of his employers gradually came to believe that he was a sincere, moral, and exemplary mage.

As a result, when he was over eighty—still young for an elf, but since there were no other long-lived species around, Thistle felt quite aged—one of Freinag’s ministers, after a series of searches and interviews, approached him with a generous salary and invited him to work at the royal court.

Freinag treated him very well—his nature was warm-hearted and sincere. He arranged for Thistle to attend him daily, invited him to various banquets and speeches, and even made an exception for the church on Thistle’s one-year anniversary to allow him to participate in a blessing ceremony.

Thistle experienced many “exciting” days in the court. He had been poor, and even when he had served some wealthy or noble people before, most of them had not treated him to this extent. Even though Thistle was normally composed, he could not remain calm at so many banquets, nor when conversing jovially with people who influenced the fate of the nation—he often appeared frozen in 'composure'.

The queen respected him greatly. Her love with Freinag was intimate, which was partly due to her own nature being so aligned with the king. She was also kind toward Thistle, but in a more delicate way. The king and queen did not yet have children, and in their eyes, Thistle’s appearance clearly marked him as a young man in need of care.

At first, Thistle intended to maintain a professional distance, but gradually, he was softened and began to enjoy court life—because of Freinag and the queen. Even so, he felt uneasy and feared the day he might be dismissed.

This situation continued until Delgal was born. Thistle also took on the work of royal medical care. After the queen became pregnant, he remained attending her. However, the situation gradually worsened. Freinag, in fact, worried every day, yet always tried to create a relaxed atmosphere.

By some luck, the queen’s childbirth went relatively smoothly. Thanks to the efforts of Thistle and the other spellcasters and midwives, the queen’s pain was greatly alleviated, and the prince was born safely.

On the day the queen could leave her bed, Freinag proudly and happily named his son Delgal. Thistle was invited to celebrate, and from that day on, Thistle’s bond with Merini became inseparable. Watching Delgal, he was no longer merely observing the king and queen’s noble, happy, and intimate life from afar; he was now part of the “happiness” he had once admired from a distance. Thistle truly felt immense happiness, and this love forever lingered in his heart, giving rise to a desire that would never wane—he wanted this happiness to last forever.

But this “complete happiness” did not last long.

Soon, the queen’s health deteriorated—an aftermath of childbirth, compounded by the poor hygiene of the era—and even magic could not save her. She blamed no one and lived bravely for two more years. In her final days, she could no longer endure the pain and could no longer smile. Thistle stayed by her side, his tears falling as her condition worsened. He could not reverse her illness and could only slightly ease her suffering. He even delved into ancient knowledge for this purpose. Freinag became somewhat irritable during this time but could not vent his feelings; he grew melancholic, and banquets became much fewer.

The queen ultimately could not hold on, and her funeral was very solemn. Many knelt by her coffin and wept, grateful for her or mourning her presence in the court. Thistle was among the mourners, nearly broken, but ultimately not. He spent the latter half of that day with Delgal—the little Delgal did not understand anything, crying and fussing from lack of maternal care, unaware of the future watching him. Thistle finally held him tightly until Delgal’s tears stopped in confusion

—and Thistle’s ultimate answer was:

no matter what, I will make you happy forever.

Supplement:

Life at court was not entirely smooth for Thistle. Many nobles used him as a pawn to attack Freinag, and as he gradually integrated into court life, many nobles even besieged him. Thistle was often frustrated, but there was nothing he could do—he had already been accustomed to this since childhood.

To Delgal, Thistle was like a mother and a teacher. He had been very clingy when Delgal was young, and as Delgal grew into adolescence, he went through a rebellious phase like other youths. Yet Delgal’s nature did not support grand, audacious acts—he would always reconcile with Thistle within a few days. Their relationship was very close.

After the queen’s death, Freinag did not remarry. He became emaciated, his once plump face now thin like a lizard’s. Thistle worried for him. To Thistle, he was like a father he truly loved. He tried to prescribe medicine for him, but Freinag refused.

At the same time, Thistle continued researching ancient magic, trying to prevent tragedies. In this, he had actually achieved great success, though unknown to others.

He also maintained contact with his parents, who now rarely interfered in his life. Though they still cared for him, they felt increasingly distant. Thistle sent money home regularly.

这是一个包含了时间捏造的if：

主要元素在于，thistle比原来的时间线大了几十岁!

希斯尔的父母曾经居住在精灵的聚落，他们因为各种原因背井离乡，在前往东方大陆的路上他们生下了希斯尔。彼时的东方大陆虽然没有什么主导势力，但因为交通困难，缺乏交流，大部分居民还是十分排外。他们用一种鄙夷又恐惧的目光看待他们一家，对他们所拥有的神秘魔法避之不及。希斯尔的父母为此生活得十分贫困，他们没有土地，只能以行商的身份活动，一度无法生活下去，差点把希斯尔卖掉，但最终他们无法欺骗自己的良心。

thistle没有什么朋友，一些还天真的幼儿长得比他快更多，而大人们则十分嫌恶（并且往往警告自己的孩子不准和他们家来往）。thistle的大部分时间只能自己一个人独处，偶尔跟着父母干活。

thistle无法从父母身上感到浓烈的爱，在周围人身上也只能察觉到歧视和怀疑。他的天性本身天真又坚定，这样的环境使得他表现得独立、沉静，甚至有些尖锐（他确信自己没有做损害良心和尊严的事的时候就是这样）。但幸运的是这些没用折损他自己的尊严。

他大概40、50岁的时候就已经开始自己一个人在外工作（但大部分时间还是要回家）。尽管还很年轻，但他已经展现出了魔法天赋，尽管依旧贫苦，但是比起一开始依赖父母身边要好了不少（不再“一定要依靠父母生活”，让他更有安全感了）

他一直这样独自生活了30、40年，总算在那片地方恢复了一些声望，尽管那些原本就不信任他的人依旧不会与他和解，但许多雇佣过他的人都开始渐渐相信他其实是个真诚、道德且模范的魔法师。

正式因此，在他八十多岁的时候——对于精灵来说还很年轻，但是因为周围没有什么长生种，thistle就觉得自己已经很大年纪了）——弗里纳格（freinag）的大臣在经过了一系列的寻找和采访后，找上了他，并给他开了一份不错的薪水，希望他能来宫廷工作。

freinag对他很好——他本性就十分热诚。他安排thistle每天侍奉自己左右，邀请他参加各种各样的宴会、宣讲，他入职一周年时还破例向教堂申请，要让thistle参加祝福活动。

thistle在宫廷里度过了很多“惊险”的日子。他从前就是个穷人，哪怕从前服侍过一些富人或贵族，他们大部分也不会对自己到这种地步。哪怕thistle向来镇静，但还是无法镇静地参与那么多的宴会，并且和那些影响国家命运的大人物们谈笑欢声（他经常是一副镇静到呆住的状态）。

皇后十分尊敬他。她和弗里纳格的爱情十分亲密，之所以亲密，倒也是因为她的内核和丈夫是那样接近。她同样与thistle相亲，但更加细腻。国王皇后还没有孩子，在他们看来，thistle的长相显然还是个需要关照的年轻人。

thistle一开始打算维持工作的距离，但不论如何，他实际上都在慢慢地被融化，变得喜欢上宫廷里的生活（因为弗里格纳和皇后）。但这样还是让他感到不安，害怕着“解雇”的那一天

这样的状态一直持续到delgal出生后。

thistle同时负责了皇家医疗的工作。皇后怀孕之后他也一直侍奉着皇后。但是状况却是每况愈下。弗里纳格实际上也每天都在焦心，但却总是努力营造放松的氛围。

稍微幸运一些的是，皇后的生产比较顺利。thistle的术士和助产士的努力极大减轻了皇后的痛苦，并让王子顺利出生了。

在皇后能下床的那个日子，弗里格纳骄傲而幸福地为自己的儿子取名为delgal。thistle被邀请一起庆祝这个时候，从那一天起，thistle彻底和merini建立了无法割裂的联系。看着delgal，他不再是远远看着皇后和国王高贵、幸福而亲昵，他此刻就在自己曾经远远注目的“幸福”的画中。thistle确切地感觉到，自己真是太幸福了，这样的爱意永远弥留在了他的心里，让他萌生了再也不会萎靡褪色的“欲念”——他想要这样的幸福能永远留住。

但是这样的“彻头彻尾的幸福”并没有维持那么久。

皇后在不久后病情恶化（这是生育后果的伴生，那个时代的卫生条件很差劲），就连魔法也无法挽救。她没有埋怨任何人，坚强地活了两年，最后的日子里已经无法忍耐痛苦，不能再露出笑容。thistle跟随在她的身边，他的泪水伴随着病情加重落下，他无法扭转病情，只能稍微为她减轻痛苦。他为此甚至涉猎了古代的知识。弗里纳格那段时间变得有些暴躁，但他始终无法发泄自己的心绪，他变得有些郁郁寡欢，宴会变得少了很多。

皇后最后没能坚持下去，她的葬礼相当阴郁，许多人跪在她的棺边痛哭，因为许多人都有恩于她，亦或者思恋她在宫廷中的身影。thistle同样是哀悼的人的一员，他几乎要被击溃，但最终没有，他那天的后半天都与delgal待在一起——小小的delgal还不明白任何事，整天没有得到母亲的关怀的他又哭又闹，还不明白未来在看着他。thistle最终紧紧抱住他，一直到delgal疑惑地停止哭泣——thistle最终的最终的回答是：不论如何，我都要让你永远幸福下去

一部分补充：

thistle在宫廷里的生活并不完全顺利。很多贵族借他来攻击弗里纳格，随着他慢慢融入宫廷，许多贵族反而对他展开围攻。thistle总是感到很烦躁，但他也没有办法（他在童年时就已经很习惯了）。

对于delgal来说，thistle是母亲一样、老师一样的存在。他年轻时非常黏他，随着长大后就像青年们那样迎来叛逆期，但不论如何，delgal本来的性子并不支持他做什么惊天动地的事——他总是没过几天，就回家和thistle和好。他们关系非常好。

弗里纳格在妻子死后没有再娶。他完全消瘦了下来，从前发福的脸现在瘦得像蜥蜴。thistle很担忧他。对于thistle来说他比起自己的家人还更要像自己爱的父亲。他试着给他开药，但弗里纳格拒绝了他。

thistle同时一直在研究古代魔法，试图杜绝悲剧。他在这一方面实际上已经卓有成就，但不为人知。

Everyone including me: They made Donkey Kong and Pauline just like Wreck-It Ralph and Vanellope!

Me just now: Wait a minute...

Funny thing about churches, for all their talk about faith and trust in their fellow man, they always locked their backdoors, at least all of the different churches Carlos used to attend with his parents did. The back door of Our Lady of Sacred Contentment church seemed to be an exception to the rule. Not only was their backdoor unlocked, but unmonitored by the barest of security systems. It was almost as if they were daring someone to break in. Thankfully Carlos wasn’t there for anything malicious, he just wanted information.

The lanky youth still struggled with the door though. It was heavy, made of a thick wood that required his whole weight to push open. Once inside though he was alone. Carlos made sure to pick a time when, according to the bank’s outward facing security cameras across the street, there was little movement in and around the church.

Slinking through the carpeted back rooms and hallways of the church, he stealthily made his way into the back office. Closing the door quietly behind him, he then drew the blinds, before sitting down at the office computer. While Carlos would have been ill-prepared to deal with a locked door due to his low physical strength, he was more than ready to tear into the church’s firewall. He had arrived with his flash drive, connective cables, his laptop, and years of experience hacking into the security system of his old high school. Except, like the back door of the church, the computer was left practically wide open to infiltration. Private files, including that of financial records and the personal notes of pastors were all helpfully labeled and the computer didn’t even require a password to access. Only a slight movement against the mouse.

Shaking his head with disappointment, Carlos nonetheless began pouring through documents. At first, he started with a broad scan of words including “testosterone”, “hormones”, and “steroids” but came up empty. So he broadened his search to include “body-building”, “strength”, and “masculinity” which brought in new results but not the kind he hoped. What he was expecting to find was a miracle drug, not articles encouraging “sportsmanship” in church league basketball and notes for sermons around “healthy masculinity” based on the life of Jesus. So, desperate, he broke the one rule he set aside for himself. He looked for information on Dwayne.

Before the church, Dwayne had been his best-friend since high school. Two nerdy non-white boys in a sea of white faces that ruled over AP courses like their own exclusive club. Carlos had even been excited that they were staying in town together, even if Dwayne himself didn’t have plans beyond high school. He always hoped that as soon as his programming career took off, that he would convince Dwayne to join in on the gold mine with him. Then the two of them could move to Silicon Valley and live comfortably, maybe even together, Carlos had hoped together. Then Dwayne suddenly joined the Church and everything changed.

It was like his whole personality changed. Everything was about Jesus, and when it wasn’t about Jesus it was about basketball, and when it wasn’t about basketball it was about Keyon.

Keyon said this, Keyon said that. As if Keyon hadn’t stopped hanging out with them the second he realized he could get more respect playing sports than he ever could on the mathletics team. Dwayne, too, had become a stranger. An extremely attractive stranger, but one who wouldn’t even look at Carlos anymore. It frustrated him to no end.

All this time Carlos had assumed it would be him and Dwayne against the world, but now he didn’t need him anymore. He had Keyon and his girlfriend and his sports, and Carlos had what? His computer? His ability to peer into any security camera system he wanted? The hope of a well-paying career in the face of climate collapse?

At that point, Carlos had even floated thinking of joining the church outright. Homophobic or not, he had seen the church’s results on his former friend and all the bizarrely muscular and attractive Christian men in town, and God did he want that same body for himself. At least if he was in the Church, he could likely fuck all the hot sexually repressed men he wanted, but then he thought, why give them the satisfaction? At least by taking the information directly, he might find a way to look that good and not have to join a cult.

As he searched for any information on Dwayne, he was surprised to find not only detailed notes on his former friend, but many other active members of the Church. Hidden in a file labeled “mental evaluations” Carlos found scores of information detailing people’s personal lives.

Under Dwayne he found notes like, “Subject remains content and blissful in the Lord’s love, but his attachment towards Keyon may require further conditioning. Seems to have no recollection of his former life. Pastor Carter is supervising his continued development but requests advice from a more experienced pastor.” This by itself suggested a level of emotional manipulation and control that Carlos feared but partially expected from Christianity, but there was also a list of all of Dwayne’s personal relationships including those he had before he joined the church, but none of those names were his own. Carlos scoured the list. Identities included second and third cousins and that time Dwayne signed up in a robotics competition with that girl from their AP British Literature course, but not Carlos.

There was a polite knock at the door.

His heart dropped. The door opened and Carlos threw himself to the carpeted floor, facedown. Hoping out of a bizarre strain of luck that the stranger would see the darkened office and then leave. He struggled not to breathe.

“Find what you’re looking for?” a male voice asked from above him.

Spitting out carpet fibers, Carlos raised his head to find one of the pastors looking down on him. A white guy. Fuck.

Instinctively he smiled.

“No hablo inglés,” Carlos tried sheepishly. He went to gather his things while keeping his head down. If the pastors were as trusting as they were with their building’s security, maybe they wouldn’t suspect him if he pretended not to speak English. The pastor cocked his head to the side and smiled warmly.

“Saludos mi amigo de habla Hispana? ¿Qué estás haciendo aquí?“

Fuck. Carlos stopped gathering his things.

“I’m about to be arrested, aren’t I?” Carlos asked, his voice tipped with dread.

“No, but I would like to have a chat. So if you wouldn’t mind, let's take this conversation to the sacristy. Away from the computer,” the pastor said with barely concealed snark.

He stood in the doorway like a teacher as Carlos walked past, the older man following him with his eyes as the pastor shut the door behind him. He led them to the brightly lit room that Carlos had first entered on breaking into the church, then bade him to take a seat in one of two uncomfortable looking purple chairs. Carlos took the one on the left, closest to the office. There was no real chance of escape with his laptop that held all his personal information in the next room. The pastor took the second chair, stretching his limbs like a sleepy cat before he sat down. He crossed his legs like a girl, then leaned forward, his smile wide and unnerving.

“I’m not undocumented,” Carlos blurted out.

“That’s good to know, but if you or anyone you know are, we have many services focused on supporting immigrant communities. I know I have some pamphlets somewhere,” the pastor said, searching his jacket pockets.

“I’m fine. Thank you. If anything I’m just surprised, considering your church’s conservative politics,” Carlos said, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Our Church is a place of God and we welcome all people. Part of our church’s mission in worldwide evangelization is a world free of borders and man-made oppression,” the pastor informed him, cheerfully.

“Right, the only acceptable oppression is the kind ordained by God,” Carlos said, sarcastically.

“Correct,” the pastor answered without a trace of irony.

“Okay, cool,” Carlos said, sinking into the back of his seat.

“So let’s talk about why you broke into the church’s private office today, but first an introduction. My name is Pastor Agosti, and you are…” the pastor trailed off.

Carlos wanted to tell him a fake name. Something cool like Big Papi or Axel Steel. Instead he said, “I know about your church’s mind control program!” He slammed a hand to his lips before he could say anything else asinine.

The pastor blinked.

“How much did you…” he trailed on and at that Carlos immediately cracked. He told Pastor Agosti everything he knew. The secret personal files, the surveillance of church members, the church’s terrible security, the blatant attempts to control people’s personal relationships, the obviousness in which the Church was changing men’s bodies and minds to be more pliable for the church. By the time he finished, Carlos was exasperated. To his surprise, despite the pastor not having left his spot and there being no one else in the church Carlos found a glass of water next to him on a coffee table. Not thinking too much about it, he drank quickly, grateful it was there. As he spoke the Pastor had merely listened attentively, staying quiet and nodding his head every once in a while.

“What do you want, Mr. Rodriquez?” the pastor asked, dropping into a thick Italian-American accent that hadn’t been so prominent as when Carlos began rattling off what he discovered.

“Money? Your friend back? Please, blurt it out at your nearest convenience,” the pastor mocked, leaning back into his chair, folding his hands across his chest like he was a Sicillian mob boss. Carlos gulped.

“I want to be hot,” Carlos admitted to the floor, unable to meet the pastor’s eyes. He felt so stupid speaking it aloud to someone.

“Excuse me?”

“I want whatever you did to Dwayne, minus the Christianity. The beautiful face, the muscular, well-toned body, the confidence. Every man walks out of here looking like a sports model and I want that. Desperately. To be honest, I’ll even take the exact same route you had for Dwayne. Put me on the church intramural basketball team, I don’t care. Hell, I’ll even sit through whatever Church service you want if it means I’ll have a body every gay man drools over. Please, that’s all I want, please just help me,” Carlos practically begged. Just the thought of Dwayne or Mr. Khan or that Bulgarian preacher with the swimmer’s body was getting him hard.

“You know, maybe you’re right, Carlos. Maybe our church has been playing fast and loose with its security. I suppose, us pastors have been so convinced of the Lord’s protecting grace that we foolishly believed we didn’t need to lock our doors or hide the personal changes we’ve brought to some of our followers. Maybe we need to adjust our tactics because if a boy fresh out of high school can soak up so much information behind our backs, we may be in danger,” Pastor Agosti said, nodding his head in thought. Then his gaze fell back upon Carlos who shivered.

“But then again, Mr. Rodriquez, you haven’t been that boy for some time,” Pastor Agosti said and Carlos could only watch as his body began to inflate from underneath him. His fingers, once long and nimble, perfect for fast-paced computer work became short and stubby, more accustomed to holding a pen than they were to typing on a computer. His t-shirt, baggy on his wiry frame, started to strain and tear apart as Carlos’s stomach and pecs pushed outward. His bony ass and narrow hips that had been so easily contained to the cushioned chair, soon became restrained by them as his ass cheeks sagged outward from under the plastic handrests.

“This isn’t what I wanted!” Carlos yelled, breathing heavily. “I wanted to be muscular and athletic!”

“Oh there’s definitely muscle under there, Mr. Rodriquez, just atrophied. Age will do that to a man,” Pastor Agosti said with fiendish delight.

Carlos in a panic felt his hair and sure enough it began to recede under his touch. His hair, once covering his eyes, was shrinking away, his hairline moving back across his skull inch by inch until it nearly disappeared entirely. By the time it was done, only a small pool of hair was left at the very top of his head, and even that was starting to thin out. Yet as his head hair receded, his nose twitched as facial hair grew out over his chin and under his nose.

Carlos wanted to scream again, to thrash and throw the chair at the foul creature that had done this to him, but seeping into his brain came a strange and debilitating calm. He tried to fight it, he tried to resist, but his own body was betraying him, relaxing him, easing him into the changes. He released a deep breath against his own wishes and sighed with relief, his thoughts slowing down. With his increased age and bulk, Carlos was feeling tired, worn down when he should have felt energized and full of fear.

“You no longer have the body you once did, old man. Accept it,” came a thought and on great urging from his body, he did. Maybe when he was younger, Carlos had the luxury to be so wound up and full of nervous energy. It was how he did so well as a wide receiver back in high school and college, but in his middle-age, he no longer had the energy to get too worried about things. Still, as tired as he was, this chair was so uncomfortable.

It was nothing like his own office chair. His office chair was double wide and properly cushioned, allowing Carlos to sit for hours without complaint. Not that he didn’t have much time for sitting during the day. Carlos was far more used to striding across the air conditioned interior of his private car dealership, shaking hands and smiling at prospective clients as they came looking for good prices on new and used cars.

He tried to shake himself out of those thoughts, to focus on what he loved about computer programming and hacking and all the nerdy things he loved all his life, but that sounded just so needlessly difficult. Carlos worked at a car dealership because he was born with a silver tongue so it was easy, he loved sports because everyone else he knew loved sports, he joined the Church because everyone he knew loved Jesus, he hated homosexuality because-

At this his thoughts stopped, confused. He looked down at the shreds of his former life, evidenced by his frayed shirt and tattered shorts.

“What am I even doing here?” Carlos asked himself in a daze. From his straining boxer briefs, his dick was hard at full mast, his balls significantly larger and pressing up against the fabric. It left him tremendously horny, deisiring men, but why would he be doing that if he hated homosexuality?

Upon noticing his confusion at his current state, Agosti willed it so Carlos’s clothes began to shift as his body had done. His torn apart graphic t-shirt depicting a Japanese cartoon, blurred until it became a white collared shirt. His cargo shorts lengthened and widened as they became a pair of black slacks, fastened by a leather belt. His dirty sneakers shifted into a pair of brown loafers while a scarlet tie slithered and tightened around his throat. Meanwhile, his underwear, once the freest piece of clothing on his changed body became its tightest, shifting into a pair of ball clenching white briefs that kept him hard and pent up throughout the day. Then to finish his outfit change, a black Apple watch materialized on his wrist, full of message notifications from his employees at the dealership. He smirked. They were helpless without him.

“Mr. Rodriquez?” Pastor Agosti asked. The heavy set man blinked.

“Right, I forgot. We were talking about faggots weren’t we, pastor?” Carlos asked, his newly deepened voice unsteady.

“I believe we were, yes. You had an observation about them I believe,” Pastor Agosti said, curiously, watching him like a cat playing with a ball of string. Carlos, not picking up on this, smiled at the pastor confidently.

“Yes,” Carlos said, voice rumbling. “I find that the sin of homosexuality stems from a lack of stable Christian parenting, yet even this can be corrected with the right instruction and guidance. It's unfortunate that so many could grow up so confused. A secretary of mine, unmarried, has a son she suspected of such confusion, a man I see like one of my own sons, but after a man to man conversation with the boy I found that all he needed was a slap on the ass for him to return to the path of the straight and narrow.”

“That’s a beautiful story, Mr. Rodriquez. I’m sure it must be difficult with such feminine temptations at work with your own wife working in another state.”

Carlos reflected on the gold ring on his finger, and the precious 16 year marriage he shared.

“Don’t you worry about that pastor. She’s spreading the word of God just as you do. Besides, we find ways to reaffirm our love to one another, even if at a distance,” Carlos said smugly and the pastor nodded.

“I’m glad to hear that, though I have to admit that neither I or to my knowledge any of my fellow pastors, have any need for a new or used vehicle. Your input however is greatly appreciated,” Pastor Agosti said formally, his accent pulling away like a 2008 Jeep Cheroke.

Blinking again, Carlos came to accept the pastor’s words as true. It would make sense that he would corner the priest in private where there would be no one and no pressing responsibilities to take him from Carlos’s pitch. He was a shark, he never gave up on a sale. It would be like fumbling the ball inches from the touchdown line.

“I understand your point of view, Pastor, and I respect it, but as a fellow Christian I feel it would be dishonorable for me not to tell you what I’ve heard from others in town about your choice in vehicle. Some erroneous negative opinions, but if you don’t want to hear it I’ll just leave,” Carlos said, getting up from the chair. He took a few steps and entered the church’s private office. There he gathered his open briefcase full of car listings, and his old laptop, an aged device he barely used anymore and went to leave.

“What possibly could people in town be saying about me? What could you possibly know about it?” Pastor Agosti asked, incredulously. Carlos smiled but wiped it away before the priest could see it.

“Talk is that you're a repressed homosexual yourself, pastor,” Carlos said, quietly.

“What did you say to me?” Pastor Agosti fumed, his left eye twitching.

“Now you didn’t hear it from me, but some people here think that with your rundown sissy Lexus-“

”Rundown Lexus? It's called humility. It’s a good thing, I don’t buy a brand new car every year. So what if it's a Lexus? People won’t think that makes me gay, does it? Does it?” Pastor Agosti asked, displaying an anxiety Carlos didn’t know the normally in control priest had.

”Now, I defended you, truly, swear on the Bible, honest to God, said you were a good Christian and that you practice what you preach, but your choice in vehicle certainly made it… difficult,” Carlos said expressing his unease. His memories were loose in his head, but he could at least piece together a narrative about the priest that he could exploit even if it wasn’t true.

“Then what am I supposed to do? I don’t want the congregation to believe I’m spending their donations to the church on materialistic frivolity,” Pastor Agosti opposed, shaking his head and wiping away sweat. Carlos put a firm, confident hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Pastor, come down to my car dealership whenever you get the chance. I’ll see you in the best used modestly priced car that will finally put those sissy rumors to bed. Here’s my card,” Carlos said with a carnivorous smile, handing him a business card that appeared just as he reached for it. The pastor nodded and took it, eyeing him nervously.

Another alert on Carlos’s Apple watch came up.

“I hate these newfangled things. I need one of my sons just to use my Ipad,” Carlos said with a sigh. He patted the priest’s back.

“Well, I should be off. They can’t do anything without me down there,” Carlos said with a chuckle. He headed for the door.

“Wait, Carlos- Mr.Rodriquez-“ he corrected, “what do you know of Dwayne Taylor?”

Carlos frowned, scratching his head. His life was mostly solidified but there was that last loose end that left him untethered. A vague sense of wanting the two to work together in California of all places but then it hit him.

“Why, he’s a brilliant young man on and off the court. I’m hoping he considers my offer to sell cars for me. He might rival my eldest in terms of natural charisma, though neither of them come close to me,” Carlos said with another proud chuckle, his wide stomach jiggling.

“It's good to hear, Mr. Rodriquez. I was just working on a hunch. I’ll see you down at your dealership real soon. Promise,” Pastor Agosti said, his smile not faltering until he watched Mr.Rodriquez leave the church, step outside, and drive off in his sleek luxury car.

Panicking, Pastor Agosti immediately called Lawrence on his private phone.

“Yes?”

“We have a problem. Multiple ones in fact, but first I need to know. Does driving a Lexus make me look gay?”

Carlos didn’t go to the office. At least not right away. He had some husbandly duties he needed to handle first.

At home, at midday he had the house to himself. There he shed his recently acquired clothes and took a series of nude pictures for his wife. His dick ached at the thought of filling her up with another one of his seed. He hoped it would be a boy, their fourth. Thinking of a world full of big, burly Christian men got Carlos hard in a way that could compel him to rip out the bathroom sink.

“Tell me how much you want to fulfill God’s plan?” Carlos asked in text along with the pictures. After he sent them, he leaned against his office desk and moaned in desperate want. A world full of big men, that’s what he wanted the world to be. Muscular, fat, both, he didn’t care.

All he had to do was keep the faith and surround himself with like-minded men like Dwayne. Then maybe, just maybe, Carlos could see the Lord’s vision fulfilled.

Pssst!

Hey, you!

Wanna know a secret? I’m 61 years old but I’ve been alive for the past 100 years!

Wanna know how I did it? Well, let's just say I have two little secrets that help keep me young. The first is to keep an optimistic mindset about the world; look for the silver lining in things, you know. It's something basically anyone can do! The second secret to staying young has to deal with my personal talents, and it's not necessarily something that anybody can pick up and do. That secret is possessing younger guys and living out their youthful years as if they were my own.

Now I know I said I'm 61 going on 62 years old. That wasn't a lie because my own body really is 62 years old, physically speaking anyway. But on a metaphysical level, I've been alive for the past century or so. Hell, I've probably seen your grandparents born and die within my lifetime! What can I say, I love being alive and I don't plan on dying anytime soon! Can you blame me? Dying is no fun, so I simply choose not to die.

What really helps me out is the fact that I live near a college town. Once the body I've stolen gets too old for my tastes, I simply step out of them and move onto the next. Take my latest body for example! All I had to do was go to the local city park and wait for a young looker to pass my way. Once he's nearby and I make sure there aren't any witnesses around, I scream out "Oh my back! Oh my poor aging back!" Then I fake being hurt and just sit back as the young man offers a helping hand. The moment he extends his hand I reach out, grab it, and pull him into me. It doesn't take much for my body to take up residence inside theirs. I've got years of practice now, I know what I'm doing.

And just look at me now! 22 years young yet again! No more flabby gut, no more thinning hair, no more aging body aches! I snagged up this young man while he was out for a run and oh boy does he reek of sweat! I could feel the drops of sweat forming and dripping off of my pit hair with every deep whiff I take in of my new scent. God I love the smell of a man's musk in the morning, and I bet I'll find someone that agrees in no time. It just feels so good to be able to get a boner without popping a pill again, and it'll feel even better to have hips that won't give out after the first few thrusts.

So cheers to being young again! I'll be sure to enjoy every second of this body's youth while it lasts.