#corruption transformation

Elder Sam Anderson stood outside a metal door in the alley. “This is the place?” he asked to himself. The other Elders was sent to help old ladies by mowing their lawns. He was sent here to this address, apparently a place called “The Hole”.

He was 21 years old and was almost done with his missionary work. He grew up in the church and knew it was his duty to spread the word of God, but he was unsure about this.

He looked around, confused. He was unsure if he should go in. It was sketchy and no one was around. He had a bad feeling, but he knew Jesus wouldn’t judge. He pulled to door handle, but it didn’t budge. He was about to turn around, but the door swung open.

A tall, muscular man stood there. Sam didn’t know what this man was wearing or why. The man had a dark black leather jacket with a matching leather shirt underneath. He had a sense of formality as he had a leather tie, but the man also carried a sense of power as he had thick black leather boots.

The man had short buzzed hair, but had a thick dark mustache that had a lit cigar right under it. This man was both scary and alluring to Elder Anderson, a feeling he couldn’t quite understand.

“Can I help you?” the man asked in a deep voice.

“Umm…Hello. My name is Elder Anderson. I’m here to help and hopefully talk about our Lord and Savior.”

The man looked at Sam up and down. “Please, come in,” the mysterious man invited him as he held the door open.

Sam stepped in and found himself in a bar. He didn’t know why he was sent to the bar.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Sam mentioned.

“Didn’t give it, but you can call me Boss,” the man said.

“…Okay,” Sam hesitantly replied while trying to smile, “I brought a copy of The Book of Mormon that you can have. What would you like me to help you with first?”

“Just set your book down and take a seat right here. Gotta watch a training video, even if you’re just volunteering,” Boss said as he grabbed the book from Sam’s hands and set it on the bar top. He placed his hands on Sam’s shoulders and guided him to a chair that was in front of a tv.

Sam felt uncomfortable being touched. The smoke from the man’s cigar made his eyes water.

Boss pushed him down in the chair, “Watch the screen,” he ordered.

The screen was nothing but static. There was a loud hum coming from the set. Sam watched and began to ask, “Are you going to play the vide—”.

The hum became soothing and Sam could not hear anything else. A quick shot of fear filled his body, but it soon disappeared. There was nothing else around him. It was just him, the hum and the static.

Images of men in leather, men smoking cigars and men nude appeared on the snow like screen. Words like “obey” and “serve” also appeared. He saw men kissing. He saw men fucking. He saw it all and thought of nothing at all.

The words “cigar boy” appeared and then the screen went black. The blank eyes of Sam saw a man placing a cigar in the mouth of another man on the screen, who then started puffing away without a thought in the world. But this wasn’t video. It was a reflection.

The static and hum returned. Sam didn’t feel anything but pure pleasure throughout his body. He didn’t think of anything else except an urge to serve and obey. An urge to make other men feel pleasure, like the pleasure he was feeling right now.

The hum started getting louder, almost like an aggressive buzz. The buzz came with a sensation of coolnesss. The screen went black again and it revealed a man smoking a cigar while getting his hair buzzed. Again, without Sam realizing or caring, this was a reflection. The sight made Sam moan uncontrollably, causing smoke to shoot out of his mouth.

“Good boy,” Boss said in a caring yet controlled way. Sam kept moaning in response, almost like he was agreeing.

The static and hum came back on. The words “You are”appeared with “Boss’ boy”, “a cigar boy”, “a good boy” and “the hole” flashing across the screen in turn, rapidly and repeatedly. The hum got louder and the screen brighter. Sam was blankly watching and moaning. His whole mind was being wiped and rebooted, trapped between pain and pleasure.

His eyes were widening until the tv suddenly turned off. Sam went limp. His moaning stopped, his eyes shut and his cigar fell out of his mouth, burning a hole in his shirt before hitting the floor.

—

“Boy,” Boss said, “wake up.”

Boy opened his tired eyes, “Boss, what happened, Boss?”

“You took a break and fell asleep,” Boss said, “And apparently had a wet dream.” Boss pointed down at boy’s pants. They were indeed wet.

“Boss, sorry, Boss,” boy apologized.

“It’s alright boy,” Boss assured him. He felt safe around Boss. He always tried to make Boss proud, but also knew he would be disciplined if he stepped out of line. “Get changed. Your gear is in the bathroom.”

“Boss, yes, Boss,” boy obeyed as he headed to the bathroom. Boy knew he must always start and end each sentence with “Boss”.

Boy went into the dimly lit bathroom. It smelled of smoke, sweat and sex. He loved that smell and all the actions that caused the odor. His gear was lying on the counter. He didn’t remember why he had a dress shirt, tie and slacks on, but didn’t want to think any more of it. He knew his Boss wouldn’t want him to think any more of it.

He first slipped in tight leather pants. He then unbuttoned his shirt and saw the thick chain with a lock around his neck. He knew he could never take this off because Boss had the only key. He put on his leather vest and then his boots. He was ready for the night. He was ready for Boss.

After getting changed, he bundled up his old clothes and was about to throw them away when he saw something in the garbage bin. He reached in and saw it was a name tag. It said “Elder Anderson.”

“Who the fuck is Elder Anderson?” boy asked aloud before throwing it and his clothes in the trash.

Boy came out of the bathroom. “Looking good, boy,” Boss complimented with a lit cigar in his mouth. He had an unlit cigar in his hand and handed it to his boy.

“Boss, thank you, boss,” boy said before placing the cigar in his mouth. He leaned in toward Boss who then lit the cigar with a torch lighter. Boy knew he had to smoke whenever his Boss told him to, which was a good thing. Boy enjoyed cigars and was starting to need them as much as Boss.

“Ready for a busy night? Bar’s opening up in 10 minutes,” Boss asked as his boy took a deep drag off the cigar.

It was boy’s job to make drinks and make sure the customers were enjoying themselves. “Boss, yes, Boss,” boy said as he exhaled a large cloud of smoke. He loved his life serving his Boss and his customers. It was the only life he knew of.

Asha into Harpy TF

Blake had already biked 10 miles out of the city. He was training for a triathlon that was at the end of the month. Blake’s health was his top priority and always tried to be in the best shape. His second priority was his looks. He had soft blonde hair and blue eyes. His skin was flawless as he bought the best facial cleanser and creams. His appearance was very important to him and at 30 years old, he looked younger than what he actually was.

He had peddled into a small, dingy town outside of the large city. The stores look desolate and there were trailers instead of houses. He thought about heading back into the City.

A loud roar of an engine sounded behind him. A biker gang zoomed past him, kicking up dust into his face. There was about 12 of them and they all looked mean under their helmets with long beards, tattoos and dangling cigarettes. A few of them even had scars on their faces. The back of their leather vests confirmed they were indeed a biker gang as they each had a large patch of a skull smoking a cigarette. The words “The Smokin’ Skulls” were embroidered around the skull.

The gang drove away and didn’t bother Blake, besides the dust, so he continued until he heard the snap of his chain.

“Shit,” Blake said as he slowed down into a parking lot. He immediately jumped off his bicycle to inspect the damages.

“Need to get ya one of these, pretty boy!” a voice called out from behind him.

Blake turned around and saw the gang behind him, all next to their bikes. Each one was smoking and the one who called out was large, muscular and covered with tats. His head was shaved bald and had a long beard, about a foot.

Blake gave a nervous chuckle, “Yeah, maybe I should.”

The large man approached Blake, “Let me take a look.” As he approached, he saw the man was wearing a patch that said “President”.

“Ummm…thanks,” Blake timidly responded.

The man kneeled down at the bicycle while Blake watched. “Yup - it’s busted. Gotta replace it with a real bike.”

Just then, someone grabbed Blake and held his arms back. “What the hell?!?” he yelled.

“Gotta properly initiate you, son.” the President said. He took a deep drag off of his cigarette and then sucker punched Blake right in the stomach. As he grasped for air, the President blew smoke right into Blake’s face.

Blake coughed from the smoke and felt dizzy. He dropped to ground and blacked out.

Blake woke up from an aggressive splash of beer on him. The President was standing directly in front of him. The whole biker gang was there. They had carried them to their bar. It smelled of beer, smoke and oil.

The confused Blake was sitting in a chair and his workout clothes were replaced. He was now wearing a leather vest, rider jeans and heavy black boots.

“What is this?” he asked angrily.

“Your new clothes,” the President smirked.

“What’s going on? Let me go,” Blake asked and pleaded.

“Afraid we can’t do that. Once you are a member, you are a member for life,” the President said as he lit a fresh cigarette.

“I didn’t agree to this,” Blake said.

“Sure ya did. Don’t you remember riding up on your Harley?”

His Harley? He had a bike…a bicycle…or was it a motorcycle. He thought through his blurry head. “I…kind of do…” Blake confirmed.

“Said you were a lone rider and was looking for a gang,” the President added.

He’s right. I was a lone rider and wanted to join them. He falsely remembered.

There was a coolness to his head. He placed his hand on his head and felt buzzed hairs. His long, blonde hair was gone. Buzzed head, just how I’ve always liked it. He then scratched his chin, feeling his short goatee.

“How long have you been ridin’?” the President asked.

He had to think about this…his memory was foggy. “Since 16. Got my Harley, left town, left my prissy family and been ridin’ ever since. Living on the road,” Blake finally remembered.

“Just like most of us, ain’t that right guys?” the President called out with the rest of the gang raising their glasses of beer in agreement.

Blake felt a sense of belonging.

“I like your tat, but I gotta ask…How’d your face end up looking like that?” the President pried.

Blake looked down at his arm and saw a poorly inked barb wire armband. The memory of him at 15 getting it down by a stranger in a trailer park flooded his memory. He was always a rebel, even in his teenage years. He then touched his face. He felt a deep scar across his eye and nose. It didn’t heal properly.

“Oh that. Bar fight. Broken beer bottle. Can’t remember the details as I was blacked out drunk,” he replied as he stroked his goatee. It was now longer and more scraggly.

“Been there,” the President laughed.

Blake was getting a craving. It was both familiar and new. The craving wasn’t new, he had been feeling it for a long time, but he didn’t know exactly what he wanted.

“Well boys, I think we found a new member of the Smokin’ Skulls. Whatcha say?” the President proudly said to his gang. They all cheered, raised glasses and lit cigarettes.

“Looks like you’re in, son,” the President reached out his hand. Blake grabbed it and shook his hand, an officially binding contract. He was now a Smokin’ Skull for life. “Just one thing. To be a Smokin’ Skull, you gotta smoke.”

That was what was missing. That was what he was craving. He needed smoke in his lungs. He needed that nicotine. He instinctively reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboro Reds with a Zippo lighter. “Since I was 14,” Blake said as he pulled a cigarette out of the pack with his lips. He flicked open his Zippo and naturally lit the smoke. He breathed directly into his lungs, the smoke fulfilling his craving.

“Good, son,” the President approved, “Oh, by the way…what do we call you? What do you go as?”

His birth name was Blake and hated it. “I go by Blade.”

“Welcome to the Smokin’ Skulls, Blade.”

“That beam of light in the sky! Is that him?” a man stopped on the busy sidewalk in New York City, looking at the sky,called out.

“I think it is! That’s Golden Boy!” a woman confirmed, while pointing up.

Everyone around them stopped and clapped. It was indeed Golden Boy, the purest superhero of our generation. With his golden blonde hair, golden power suit and golden light, he protects the city from crime. He brings the light, even during the darkest of times.

Golden Boy waved to the cheering crowd below and shouted his catchphrase, “Let there be light!” The crowd cheer louder and Golden Boy blasted off, leaving a golden beam of light behind him.

Golden Boy scanned the area as he flew, looking for any signs of distress or crime.

That’s when he saw trouble. A large, dark cloud of smoke rose from a nearby alleyway.

“It can’t be…Sir Smoke is back!” he said as sped towards the smoke.

As Golden Boy approached the toxic smoke, he shot beams of his energy light out of his hands. The smoke dispersed and Golden Boy could see Sir Smoke standing in the alleyway.

Sir Smoke was Golden Boy’s archenemies. He had the strength of 20 men and produced toxic smoke with mind altering capabilities from his sinister cigars. He wore a black leather uniform with a Muir cap. His eyes glowed red from behind his sunglasses. A cigar was almost always protruding from his mouth and thick mustache.

“My light will put an end to your darkness!” Golden Boy called out as he flew towards Sir Smoke with his fist brightly glowing.

“My boy,” Sir Smoke replied, “Your light can’t protect you from your own shadow.”

Golden Boy and Sir Smoke clash in the alleyway. Sir Smoke got knocked back to the ground and Golden boy floated just about the ground. “Already giving up?” Golden Boy cockily asked.

Sir Smoke slowly rose back to his two booted feet. “Boy, I’m just getting started,” Sir Smoke devilishly said in his deep, demonic voice.

Golden Boy suddenly and quickly flew to him with his fist out once again, but this time Sir Smoke was quicker. Sir Smoke dodged and grabbed Golden Boy’s arm. He swung him around so that Golden Boy’s face was facing his. Massive amounts of smoke blew from Sir Smoke’s mouth and directly in Golden Boy’s face. The toxic smoke dazed Golden Boy and he became limp. Sir Smoke then threw Golden Boy to the ground.

Golden Boy, immobilized, laid there helplessly. Sir Smoke stood above him menacingly and spoke as more smoke escaped from his mouth, “Now you’re mine, boy.”

———

Back in Sir Smoke’s lair, the paralyzed Golden Boy sat in a chair. His eyes were closed and he couldn’t say a word, but he was cognizant. He heard heavy foot steps entering in the room.

“There’s no use in worrying. Nothing can stop what I’m about to do to you,” Sir Smoke powerfully said.

Golden Boy mumbled in response. He couldn’t move. All he could do was listen to Sir Smoke and breath in his smoke.

“It is time you join me, boy. Time to let your light go out and cover the world in smoke,” Sir Smoke said as he forced a lit cigar in Golden Boy’s mouth.

Golden Boy, in his catatonic state, couldn’t help but drag on the cigar. He could feel the light within him go dim as the smoke blackened his lungs. With every inhale of smoke, his mission of bringing light to the world became weaker.

His puffs, drags and inhales became stronger and quicker. Sir Smoke gave a devilish grin. His plan was working better than he had hoped.

Golden Boy came to and opened his eyes. They were glowing red, just like Smoke Sir’s.

“Yes, my boy. Smoke. Deeper. Harder. You want to live for the power of my smoke,” Sir Smoke ordered as he admired his new creation.

Golden Boy’s mission, his old life and his light was gone. All that was in him was smoke. All Golden Boy wanted was to serve Sir Smoke and fulfill his evil plans.

“You serve me now, as my right hand man. You breathe the smoke I breathe. Together, we will cover the world with the darkness of our smoke,” Sir Smoke spoke with his cigar in his mouth.

“Yes, Sir,” Golden Boy obeyed. It was now what he wanted. It was now what he lived for.

“Excellent my boy. Keep smoking. Now and forever,” Sir Smoke, proud of his work.

As Golden Boy greedily puffed away, his golden hair darkened to pitch black. A sinister goatee sprouted from his lip and chin. The smoke was not only changing Golden Boy’s will, but his genetic makeup.

“Even starting to look like your Sir, boy,” Sir Smoke pleased.

Golden Boy kept smoking. He liked it now. He wanted it now. And just like his master, he will always be smoking now.

His superhero costume was blackening to his now supervillain costume. The white cloth was turning into black leather. The golden trimming on his suit became darker, as it if was sooted with dark smoke. His mask had hints of gold, but barely. It was mostly black.

Golden Boy’s goatee was thicker and more pointed. Sir Smoke slicked back his creation’s dark hair, admiring and pleased.

“You are now Smoke Boy. Golden Boy is dead. You serve me and together, we will cover the world with our smoke,” Sir smoke demanded.

“Yes, Sir,” Smoke Boy obliged.

———

The City has been dark for days. Clouds were grey and there was a haze in the sky. No one has seen Golden Boy.

A man was walking down the street when he saw a black trail of smoke in the sky. He pointed and yelled, “What’s that?” People walking down the sidewalk stopped and stared. “Is that Golden Boy?”

A man emerged from the black smoke and approached the onlookers. His hands were blackened as smoke dispensed from them. His cigar, firmly in his jaw, glowed almost as bright as his red eyes. He looked down at the crowd.

“No. I am Smoke Boy. Let there be smoke,” he told them in a deep voice. Black smoke shot from his hands into the innocent crowd, covering them in darkness.

The citizens of New York have been stuck inside their houses. Toxic smoke has covered the air, caused by Sir Smoke’s henchman, Smoke Boy.

Smoke Boy was once the savior of New York City, known as Golden Boy, but was corrupted by Sir Smoke. Together, they have started their plans to take over the city, and then the world.

The Mayor of New York City called for backup and The Silver Beast responded. Once the partner of Golden Boy, this mission hit close to home.

The Silver Beast has super strength and intelligence. If anyone was going to stop this, it would be him.

The smoke reflected in his silver hair and suit. He had to not only save the City from corruption, but his dear friend too. He stood on the top of a building, looking for him.

A smoky figure flew in the sky above him, flying away.

“Golden Boy!” the Silver Beast yelled, “Stop!”

The once Golden Boy kept flying away, puffing heavily on his cigar and leaving a trail of smoke behind. The Silver Beast jumped to another building top, and then another, following.

Smoke Boy was fast, but the Silver Beast was able to follow the trail. The Silver Beast had to stop his friend, but was worried he could not be saved.

The trail stopped on one rooftop. There was smoke all around when The Silver Beast landed. “Come out, Golden Boy! Let me help you,” he said.

A deep voice came from the thick smoke around him, “You cannot save Golden Boy. He is long gone. All there is now is SMOKE!” Smoke Boy emerged from the smoke and flew towards The Silver Beast with smoke emerging from his hands and mouth.

The Silver Beast held his breath and blocked Smoke Boy’s aggressive attack.

Smoke Boy saw his former crime fighting partner holding his breath. He then sucker punched him right in the stomach, causing The Silver Beast the gasp. Smoke Boy blew his cigar smoke right in The Silver Beast’s face.

The Silver Beast dropped to his knees. His evil opponent smiled and laughed.

“What’s wrong? Gasping for air?” Smoke Boy taunted as he walked behind him, blowing more smoke in The Silver Beast’s face. “Well, you won’t be getting that anymore,” he added.

The smoke penetrated his healthy lungs, turning them black. The Silver Beast’s mind became blank. Being a super genius, this was a new feeling.

Sir Smoke emerged from the smoke. “Didn’t think a genius would fall into our trap so easily,” Sir Smoke spoke with his cigar in his teeth. “I know your mind is now empty, but I know you can hear me. You are one of us now. A slave to the smoke.”

Sir Smoke approached The Silver Beast and placed a large cigar in his jaws. The Silver Beast instinctively started puffing and inhaling the smoke. His lunch became more black.

As he puffed, thoughts of lust for smoke and rage filled his mind. He grew angry and wanted to lash out. But not against his new master, but against the world. The complex thoughts he once had were gone. His independence was gone. He lived and obeyed now for Sir Smoke. He was now simple minded, but he felt even stronger than before.

His hair became black and shorter, as if it was disappearing. His muscles grew thicker and a short stubble beard grew. Black hair was sprouting from his arms. He stood up. He felt new strength.

“Yes, my servant. Stand and feel your new power,” Sir Smoke ordered.

The Silver Beast nodded. He was enjoying his cigar and never wanted to stop. The only thing he thought about was smoking, punching and following orders.

The smoke was altering his appearance even more. He grew larger and head hair was now completely gone. His beard and arm hair was longer and thicker.

Smoke formed around him, materializing a new uniform. It was a leather vest with leather pants.

There was a small, quiet voice in his head. It was of The Silver Beast. “Fight it,” it said.

The newly formed supervillain spoke aloud, in a new deep, low voice “No.” He took a heavy draw and inhale from his cigar and his eyes glowed red. The Silver Beast was no more.

“Welcome to the League of Smoke, my Smoke Beast,” Sir Smoke said.

“Welcome, brother,” Smoke Boy added.

The Smoke Beast didn’t say anything. He was now a man of few words. He just listened and obeyed, all while smoking,

Sir Smoke and his henchmen stood on the roof. “It is time to make this City corrupted. It is time to make this City mine.”

Smoke Boy flew off towards City Hall and The Smoke Beast leapt off, following.

(Part Two of The Cage Trilogy)

Justin woke up with a pounding headache late Sunday morning. Once again, he could not remember his night at The Cage. All he knew was that he had a good time and he was feeling the consequences this morning.

He slowly got up from his bed, pulled on a white shirt and slid into grey sweatpants. He grabbed his jacket and headed to his balcony. He felt a familiar tug in his chest.

The City below him was calm for a Sunday. He pulled out his pack of Marlboro Reds with his Zippo. He slid a cigarette out of the pack with his lips and noticed he only had one left. He knew he’d have to stop by the corner store very soon.

He flicked his Zippo and brought the Red to life. He pulled on the filter hard and took a deep breath, holding the smoke for a few seconds before exhaling it into the morning air. This feeling felt both new and familiar; it was the best feeling in the world.

He may not have the memories from the night before, but he had this and he didn’t want to let it go.

After taking a shower, he didn’t bother shaving. Part of him still felt a little dizzy and didn’t trust himself with a razor. The other part just didn’t care. After putting on some blue jeans and a grey shirt, he took a couple of ibuprofen and chugged some water. He then grabbed his jacket and headed out to the store. He felt pretty shitty right now, but didn’t want to feel worse without some smokes.

When going down in the elevator, he grabbed his pack and took out the last Red. He crushed the pack and tossed it right there in the elevator. He didn’t care; someone else would take care of it. He placed the cigarette in his lips, feeling an instant temptation to light it up and had to hold his Zippo in his hand.

The anticipation was building as he exited the elevator walked through the apartment building lobby. As soon has his feet touched the sidewalk pavement, he lit up. The anticipation made the relief even better.

He walked into the corner store and grabbed a coffee before heading to the counter. As he was walking up, he noticed a rack of cheap sunglasses. There was a pair of aviators. He grabbed them and put them on; the lights were still sensitive to him and his headache.

“I’ll take these,” he said as he pointed to the glasses when he approached the counter, “this coffee and a pack of Marlboro Reds.”

The cashier grabbed a pack from the rack behind him placed them on the counter. Justin immediately grabbed it and started tapping the top of the pack against his palm. He didn’t know why though.

“$29.34,” the cashier said and Justin pulled out his wallet. He handed the cashier a $20 and $10 bill and told him to keep the change.

Justin ripped the cellophane off the pack as he walked out.

Once he took off the silver lining paper inside the pack, he smelled the twenty cigarettes. The sweet scent of tobacco smelled heavenly.

He took out a Red and lit it. The taste of coffee and smoke was an unmatched combo. He headed back to his apartment as he smoked and drank his coffee in his new pair of shades.

After spending the day recovering by laying on the couch and stepping outside every couple hours to smoke, he headed back to The Cage.

Over the next work week, he would end his shift and head straight to the bar to spend his evening there. He would always wake up the next morning not remembering a thing while feeling rough. But this was his new normal and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He didn’t know why, but The Cage felt like home.

His boss and coworkers noticed how he would take a smoke break every couple of hours. They noticed him taking less effort in his appearance: his hair was always untidy, he grew a short beard and his clothes were always wrinkled. Plus, he was seen almost always in his leather jacket that smelled of smoke.

It was Friday afternoon when Ethan texted:

“Back in town cage at 4?”

Justin responded with: “Fuck yea!”

When his boss, Amanda, tried to talk to him that afternoon about his sudden change, Justin was nowhere to be found.

As Justin left early and headed to The Cage, we was hauling a Red. He hoped Ethan was the smokin’ stud on the first night at the bar. He was nervous and excited. He smoked a couple on his way there to help calm the nerves.

Sure enough, the smoke stud was waiting outside of The Cage. He was in the same black leather jacket as the first night Justin laid eyes on him. He wore a white shirt under it with some black jeans. His black combat boots shined under the lights.

“Hey stud,” the stud said as he exhaled some smoke.

“Hey Ethan,” Justin responded.

The two men finished their smokes before entering the bar.

Justin once again opened up with a familiar headache, but each night was getting easier to handle. He stared over at the nightstand and saw an ashtray with multiple cigarette butts. Some of them though were solid white, not of cork patterned like his Marlboro Reds.

An arm slid over his bare skin from behind, causing him to jump a little.

“Forgot I was here? Huh, stud?” a calm, sleepy and cool voice from behind him whispered.

Justin looked over and saw Ethan laying shirtless next to him.

“No, of course not,” Justin whispered back. The two of them cuddled late into the Saturday morning.

Ethan eventually got up first and got dressed. He lit up a cigarette afterwards and Justin did the same as he laid in bed.

“I could use a bite to eat. It’s only 10:30. Wanna go grab breakfast?” Ethan coolly asked as he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke.

“Like a date?” Justin asked as he laid there, shirtless.

Ethan laughed, “If you wanna call it that.”

“Well then, yes,” Justin accepted.

The two men sat at a diner that apparently had the best biscuits and gravy, according to Ethan. This was the first time Justin felt like he was actually getting to know Ethan, since he couldn’t remember much about their evenings at The Cage. He hoped he wouldn’t ask questions he should already know the answer to.

“So what do you do for work, exactly?” Justin asked.

“Well, when I said I was a salesperson…I guess that was pretty generic. I work for a software developing company. We develop bookkeeping software for small businesses. I travel a lot to show it at different trade shows,” Ethan exclaimed, “What about you?”

The two men discussed different aspects of their lives over their biscuits and gravy. They learned they both grew up in small farming towns, that their birthdays were only a week apart and share a fondness of 90s cartoons.

“So,” Ethan out of the blue asked, “how’d you get into the leather scene?”

“Oh…well…,” Justin paused and looked around.

“Nothing to be shy about,” Ethan assured him, “Been interested in it since a teen. I scoured the internet for pics and learned much about it. When I moved here after high school, I got a fake I.D. and discovered The Cage where most of the guys took me under their wings. Got a lot of my gear from a mentor. His name was Gus and bartended there. Great guy.”

Justin figured it was time to confess, “To be honest, I didn’t know I was into it until that night I stepped into The Cage. Saw you and knew I wanted to go inside.” Justin looked down at his plate, embarrassed, and hoped he didn’t say too much too soon. “Some guy gave me a jacket so I could go in,” he added.

There was a pause and Justin looked up. He saw Ethan starting with his dark emerald eyes. He had a genuine smile that made Justin’s chest feel full of butterflies.

“Well, you look great in it. Glad you came in,” Ethan said, “Just wait till I get you some leather pants.”

After a few hours of chatting at the diner, Ethan and Justin walked. They both kept up with each other’s walking and smoking pace. Justin was unsure whether he or Ethan slowly kept moving closer as they walked.

Justin’s left hand accidentally brushed Ethan’s rifht. Before he could move it away, Ethan grabbed it. The two of them held each other’s hands for the rest of the date.

Three months had passed and there was significant changes in Justin’s life.

First thing was that he was spending a lot of time with Ethan, but they never discussed the title of “boyfriends”. They’d spend one or two nights together every week. Justin was unsure whether he should ask him to be exclusive.

When the two of them hung out, it felt like they were boyfriends. They’d kiss, hold hands, cuddle and fuck. They also were getting invested in each other’s lives; much more than just regular friends.

However when they went to The Cage together, Justin would wake up the next day not remembering a thing still.

Second thing was that Justin was smoking a pack a day now. It didn’t seem like a big deal anymore, it was just something he did and needed. He didn’t think he’d quit; it felt like it was just a part of him now, as if he had done it for it. It was something he enjoyed doing, especially with Ethan. He was buying multiple packs a time at this point, never wanting to run out.

Third thing was that Justin was starting to look different. He had grown a beard that was about about two inches long. He was unsure what to do with it though, as he thought of trying different style and shaving it into a goatee or mustache. But either way, he liked having it. He had never grown any facial hair since his boss always preferred a clean cut appearance. Ethan told him he also liked him in facial hair though; and that was all the validation he needed.

He did change his hairstyle though. He got a high and tight, where the top was a bit shorter and the sides were skin. It was something that he figured was easier to maintain in the morning and not look so disheveled at work. He also got a pair of black leather combat boots that he wore everyday.

He had also been very interested in leather more. One evening, Ethan put on a full black leather uniform - which included a Muir Cap, gloves, shirt, tie, pants, boots, belt and a belt strap that Justin learned was called a Sam Browne. Justin though Ethan looked amazing in it and was very turned on. Ethan explained that The Cage holds an annual leather event and that he planned to compete for Mr. Leather Cage this year. It was coming up in a month and Ethan told him that it would mean a lot if he could be there. Justin was all in and wanted to support this man that was becoming very special to him.

That evening, Ethan helped measure Justin to place an order of gear from a local shop as soon as possible. He wanted to be geared up for the first time at the competition.

A couple weeks later, it was a Monday afternoon when Justin was taking a smoke break outside, which was now an hourly thing. He had his office clothes under his leather jacket with his aviators on. He also wore his combat boots, even though they weren’t exactly office attire. He was replying to a text from the leathersmith, who was letting him know his gear would be done by Friday. This was perfect timing since the competition was this Saturday at The Cage. He couldn’t wait to be geared up with Ethan. He figured it was also the perfect time to ask Ethan to be his boyfriend.