(This hot story was submitted by Donald T. Oolong.)
After college, Aaron decided to see the country. While in Tennessee, he heard the legend of the Old Man of the Smokies. Victim to a curse, the Old Man was trapped in a certain hollow, seeking freedom through passing the curse to someone else. There was a goofy T-shirt for sale in one of the shops reading I ESCAPED OLD MAN SMOKEY with a Tom-and-Jerry-style drawing of a fat bearded redneck chasing after younger man looking over his shoulder in cartoonish terror. Aaron bought one as a memento, and decided to go on an excursion. Folklore interested him, and he wanted to check this out for himself.
Early that evening, Aaron set up camp by a stream. No weird Old Man anywhere (of course), but it was still beautiful. He hung his clothes out to dry and read in the tent, playing with his cock absently. God, why was he suddenly so horny? He was fully hard when he noticed the Old Man outside, naked with his own hard cock jutting from beneath the expanse of a considerable belly.
“Hooo-wee! Well ain’t you a handsome devil?” The old man grinned mischievously at Aaron.
He couldn’t understand why he wasn’t terrified when the Old Man entered. Aaron kissed him, nervously at first, until he realized (am I gay?) the Old Man was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. They rolled about the tent floor, groping at one another, kissing, grinding their cocks until Aaron lifted his legs into the air and felt the Old Man’s cockhead pressing against his ass. It hurt the first time, less so the second. The third was bliss. He fell asleep in the Old Man’s soft yet sturdy arms, whiskers bristling against his neck, the air thick with the scent of semen and the sound of rushing water.
“Mornin’ gramps. Have fun last night?”
Aaron awoke to the oddly familiar grin of fuzzy-faced young man with long red hair leaning over him. The ache in his ass brought back memories of before, but this man was considerably skinnier. And younger. Aaron sat up, noticing an unfamiliar shifting as the fat that blossomed on his muscular frame overnight jiggled. “No!” His voice sounded different too. He grabbed desperately for the hippyish young man.
The hippie playfully slapped his hand away “No tag backs! I’m granted safe passage. It’s cool, the rules will come naturally to you. You could find a guy tonight, tomorrow or…hey, is Nixon still president?” Aaron shook his head, and a look of sadness crossed the hippie’s features. “How long has it been?”
Aaron sat naked by the stream, watching the hippie wade toward the other bank, clad in the now-vintage clothing that had appeared outside the tent. Aaron’s clothes were gone, replaced by a pair of large denim overalls. He somehow knew that he couldn’t cross that far bank. Not yet, at least. Bathing in the stream, he chuckled bitterly “First I gotta escape Old Man Smokey.” He’d earn that shirt back.