~~February 20th~~
John was on the back porch of the house, naked as usual, but not feeling the cold wind against his skin. Not thinking about much at all, really, just…remembering. Thinking back, to that first night, with his…father…
It was so confusing, trying to understand what had happened. His father had died last year, hadn’t he? And yet, when that strange, fucked up Stanta had appeared in that house, with him and his brothers…he’d known, somehow, that this man was his father. Stanta hadn’t wanted to talk about this, the few times John had managed to clear his head enough to bring it up. Usually John didn’t have much attention for these sorts of things, because the pendant around his neck had kept him rather…preoccupied.
That first week or so, while the elves had been resting, he’d remained his father’s innocent little cub the entire time. Everything had felt so new, and exciting, and while Stanta had enjoyed it for a few days, he’d grown bored with his inexperience, and begun pushing him harder and further than that persona (John wasn’t sure that was the right word, but it was the one he’d used to separate out the various forms he’d taken over the last two months) had been able to take. Finally, disgusted by him, Stanta had dumped him in a back guest room and told John that he didn’t want to lay eyes on him until he was back to himself. At first, John–as that cub–hadn’t known what he meant. He tried to get out, but Stanta had locked him inside. John had worried he might starve, but the gift of immortality made that a laughable concern. So he sat, alone, and felt himself begin to return, bit by bit. The pendant, it seemed, would maintain a persona once created, but if he was alone, he would slowly revert back to his original body and mind–thankfully.
Once he was normal again, Stanta had been willing to see him again–and this time, he was the same cub…somewhat. Just much, much more experienced. Tattoos all over his body, cock permanently locked and pierced, he’d desired nothing more than to serve his daddy’s every perverse whim, but Stanta had tired of that even faster–and when John had been sent back to the room, he’d returned to himself faster as well.
In this way, he’d begun to discover some of the rules of the amulet. If Stanta saw him when he was normal, he’d change into whatever he desired at the moment. The longer he was in a persona, the longer it took him to return to normal, once he was isolated. Figuring this out, at least, helped him feel like he had a measure of control, even though he had none at all.
He’d been through a few other personas at this point–all of them equally unsuccessful, and he was back to himself, now, for a moment. Stanta no longer locked him in the room, but he’d told John he wasn’t ready to see him yet. In fact, he hadn’t seen Stanta much at all, the last few weeks, ever since he’d come back from the workshop with those two pigs and that rubber thing, and taken them down into the basement with him. So here he sat, perfectly comfortable in temperatures of thirty below, staring into the endless dark of winter (well, there was a peek of sun now, but just a peek) above the arctic circle, wishing he could stop loving his captor. Wishing he knew what Stanta wanted. Wishing he could just be…perfect, for him.
In the wind, he didn’t hear the crunch of footsteps approaching around the side of the house–an elf. It didn’t occur to him to be concerned, when he saw the small figure, until he felt the amulet heat up, signalling a change. A new rule then: when he was normal, he’d change when anyone saw him, not just Stanta. He felt himself shrinking–much more than when he’d become that cub–until he was about three and a half feet tall, but with substantial muscle and a short full beard. The elf came closer, stopped like he recognized him, and his jaw dropped. John knew his name, somehow–Timmy. And he…his name was…Marty? His head felt fuzzy, like it usually did, when under the amulet’s effects, especially at first–he beckoned Timmy closer, and said, “I…never meant any of those things I said, Timmy. I always wanted you–so come…come and get it…”
Timmy did. The two of them fucked on the back porch for nearly two hours, until they’d both come multiple times, and John’s head began to clarify slightly, and he could pull away. Timmy, too, stepped back, cheeks flaring red, unable to believe what he’d just done. He’d…known that this wasn’t Marty, but fuck, just seeing him there…
“I’m sorry, I didn’t…” Timmy started to say.
“Don’t. It’s alright. I wanted you to,” John said, “I mean, I…it’s this amulet. Stanta is forcing me to wear it, I can’t really…stop.”
“I just wanted to introduce myself is all. I suppose this was a bit more than an introduction,” Timmy said, “I’m Timmy.”
“Right–the…second in command, right? I’m M–…John…” He said, finding it very hard to get his real name out, and not say “Marty” instead.
Timmy looked at him a bit odd. “No I’m head elf.”
“Oh I thought I was…” John said, and then realized his memories had gotten crossed, and shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t always…separate these thoughts apart. Who is Marty? Is he another elf?”
“I…don’t really want to talk about it,” Timmy said, “I just wanted to make sure you were settling in alright, but it looks like…do you need help?”
John shook his head, “No, I…I want him to love me. It’s complicated. Just…just let us be. You should leave, and let me change back. If he finds out someone else changed me, he’ll want to know who, and you might not want him asking those things. He’s…already suspicious of you.”
Timmy was more than happy to get back to the workshop, trying to sort out what had just happened. He thought he’d set Marty aside. He thought he’d been able to forget about it, but apparently he was never going to be over it. But could…could he really…be Marty? Did it really matter? He could be whatever Timmy wanted him to be, couldn’t he? Timmy hadn’t really gone there to simply introduce himself, after all–he’d been looking for information, or a weakness…and he may very well have found one.
The next day, John returned to the porch, no longer Marty–that one had only lasted a few hours, but it was…strange. He’d…known things, about that elf. Things from his own mind, and he still knew them. Not all of them good things, either. But there, on the stoop, was a wrapped present, with his name on the tag. He opened it, and found a small toy gun inside, and a short note. A love gun, apparently. John took it inside and stashed it in his room. He couldn’t use something like that, could he? No…no, that would be…wrong. But his father had made him fall in love with him–was it really so unjust if he returned the favor?
Bracken's Corner 