It was the smell of smoke that woke him up in bed, and Marty thought something must be on fire. He got up and hurried out of his room, but there weren’t any flames in the living room–but there was smoke, and he saw that it was coming from a smoldering cigar on an end table next to the Christmas tree.
He just stared at it for a moment, not entirely sure what to think. He lived here by himself after all, and he wasn’t a smoker. In fact, Marty was pretty boring all around–he didn’t even have a girlfriend, didn’t drink, just went to work, came home watched TV, day in and day out, but that was good enough for him. He wasn’t the kind of person who craved excitement. But then where in the world had the cigar come from, and if it was still smoking like that, wouldn’t that mean that someone would have had to have been smoking it in here…recently?
He looked around the apartment but there was no one there, but the smell of smoke just wouldn’t leave his mind, and part of him really wanted to try it. He didn’t know why really–it seemed like such a dumb, impulsive thing to do–but the more he tried to resist, the more he found himself looking at the cigar, until he picked it up with a shaking hand, put it to his lips, and took a tentative drag.
The sensation of the smoke was overwhelming, and somehow…liberating. It was like the smoke worked it’s way inside of him, loosening him up, undoing the restrictions he’d placed on himself all of these years, and then he was coughing up the smoke, and set the cigar down, he head spinning. “Fuck, that’s some crazy ass moutherfuckin’ shit,” Marty said, using more curse words in one sentence than he’d used all year, and ran his hand through his beard.
His beard?
He felt his face again, and found a thick beard had grown in all over his face, nearly an inch thick, and looking down at himself, that wasn’t the only thing that had changed. He’d packed on quite a bit of fat as well, and he looked hairier as well.
“Ho, ho, ho–so I did leave my cigar here, eh? Looks like someone took a bit of an interest in it, eh Marty?”
He spun around and saw that the sexiest Santa he’d ever seen had somehow materialized in his living room. No, not sexy, what was he thinking? He’d never been into guys, but damn, the way the harness was stretched across his gut…“How–how did you get in here?”
“You know, you really shouldn’t go sucking on things that don’t belong to you. Still, since you started it, you might as well finish it, eh?”
Santa walked up to Marty and pushed the cigar into his mouth, and he reflexively took another inhale, the same sensation sweeping through him, undoing all of the control he’d worked into his life, and this time he drew it in deeper, before he managed to pull himself away from it. “Fuck, what the hell is in that thing? Makes me feel fuckin’ nuts,” Marty said, but his voice sounded different all of a sudden, with a subtle country twang.
“Yeah, that’s got you looking better already,” Santa said, “You should take a look Marty, I think you’ll enjoy it.”
Santa pushed Marty towards the bathroom, and when he saw himself in the mirror, his jaw dropped. His beard had grown longer by a couple of inches, and his hair had grown out as well, the front still short, but in the back it was down past his shoulders. He was even fatter and hairier than before, but none of this could be possible. “Ah don’, Ah mean, this can’t be right, Ah don’t wanna look like this…”
“Oh Marty, you really ought to lighten up–you think too hard, did you know that? You really need to appreciate the simpler things in life,” Santa said, spun him around so they were face to face, and locked lips with him, blowing a huge amount of smoke into Marty’s lungs, deeper than it had gone before, and when the separated, Marty felt like his whole head was full of cotton. He’d changed again, his beard and hair now not only longer, but greasy and unkempt. He was missing a few teeth, and the ones he did have were stained yellow from smoke, and he felt a wet fart rip out of his wide ass, but it felt good. It felt good just letting go, not thinking at all, except about how much he wanted in Santa’s pants. “Fuck Santa, yer so damn sexy…” he said, unable to resist the attraction any longer.
Santa had him on his knees in a moment, his cock shoved down Marty’s throat, and he knew there was something wrong with all of this, but he was just enjoying himself too much. When Santa finished all over his nasty beard, he let Marty take the final draw on the cigar, and he knew what he’d been missing. All this time he’d wasted working, he should have been on a Harley, riding around the country, sucking cock in every rest area, fucking truckers in the backs of their cabs–he’d missed so much! But no more. Santa helped him up, and Marty wasn’t naked anymore–he was wearing his muddy biker leathers, and when Santa handed him the keys to his bike and a few cigars, he grinned. He was just a cigar smoking, cocksucking, redneck biker now, and he’d never wanted to be anything else.
Bracken's Corner 