Asking two questions I always wanted to ask. 1)Do you like racial transformations? If you do, which ones? 2)I think you like “redneck” transformations a lot, but the problem is, people outside US (like me) doesn’t get it very well. Well, of course, I “know” what redneck is, (thanks to the wikipedia!) and I kind of like it, but hard to “feel” what would be like to be “transformed into a redneck”. So my second question is this: could you tell us what elements of redneck intrigue you so much?

*Sigh* and where’s where I try my very best to avoid hypocrisy, and probably fail. Here’s the short answers.

1) I’m not usually a fan of racial TFs. Mostly because they are stereotype driven, and frankly, they’re just insulting for the most part. There are some that are done well, but they usually are just as insulting, but fail in interesting ways.

2) I like redneck TF’s because I like the stereotype, and forcing someone to conform to that stereotype is hot.

Do you see my dilemma?

At the heart, racial transformations and class transformations are the same side of the coin. They involve taking someone from outside of that race/class, and forcing them to conform to the norms of that race/class against their will. Each race and class has it’s own unique visual, mental and historical triggers which people like to see in the stories, and these triggers are generally derived from the stereotypical associations these classes represent. 

Now, if these types of transformations are all of a kind, how in the hell do I defend redneck transformations while saying racial transformations are somehow immoral? After all, no one really lives like the rednecks in my stories–they’re all cliche and horror trope for the most part. They are, in many ways, a class within society which is as downtrodden, disenfranchised, poor, and uneducated as a “ghetto black,” which I have seen in countless racial TF’s. But here, I think, is perhaps the crux of how it works out in my head.

I have no real interest in turning “being a certain race” into someone’s punishment. There is nothing inherently wrong with being black/asian/native american/latino etc. However, in racial TF stories, more often than not, this state of skin change is seen as something inherently negative–and that’s something I just don’t believe is true, or should ever be reinforced. 

However, forcing someone into a class, to me, seems slightly more forgiving. I definitely treat “becoming a redneck” as a punishment, but the punishing aspects aren’t derived from anything intrinsic–it’s all circumstantial and learned behaviors. Racial changes that are framed this way tend to bother me much less, for the record, where the skin change is less crucial, and the crux of the TF lies in making the person have the racial experience of blackness–not because that experience is morally wrong–but because it forces them to experience something they could never have imagined. This nuance, however, is not easy to convey, and even harder to write, and if done poorly just makes you a racist, and so I figure it’s probably safer to:

Not use people of color or racial TFs in my stories, unless specifically requested by a commissioner (and even then, I do my best to dissuade them if I can). As shitty as it is to only use white people in stories (and it is a shit choice, trust me) I’d rather do that than grossly insult someone because I undermine a racial experience I could never understand or fathom.

If you’d like to hate on me, feel free. And if you’d like to show me a better way of looking at it, I’d sure appreciate that, because I get real tired of knowing I have this borderline hypocrisy, lol. 

What are your views on art?

Aww geez, no one’s giving me anything easy, lol.

My views on art. Well, personally, I’m more of a modern art person. I enjoy abstract art, and Rothko in particular can make me weep. I know a lot of people think abstract art is bullshit (see buzzfeed) but…well…simply looking at a piece of art as “itself”–as nothing more than the paint on the canvas–fundamentally misses the point. Regardless of what it might look like, the artist is trying to say something through that work (while a toddler is not, generally) and I think that abstract art can deliver messages with more emotional girth than previous art forms.

That was probably a bit specific though. I like art, I think we should do more to fund it. I also think we should take it less seriously. I am a huge fan of “craft art,” that the things we make with purpose can also be beautiful. Pottery, especially Southwest Native American pottery of which my husband and I have a small collection, is a great expression of this. It also ties into one of my other favorite artists, Joe Feddersen, whose latest show, “Vital Signs”, I had the pleasure of seeing.

I am also, along these lines, a huge fan of glass work, especially blown and stained. Living near Tacoma, we are naturally inundated with Chihuly, but I’ve also had the privilege of visiting a local stained glass artists studio, and for a while, seriously contemplated trying to learn the craft myself. Maybe later down the line.

So–art. I like art. I like newer visual art, which is emotionally focused, especially if it is geometric. I adore craft, and I’d like to see art draw on craft more, as a way of connecting back to the world around us. Glass is probably my favorite medium, however. Those are some of my thoughts–if you want more, ask a more specific question next time?

What can I do to get you to do more pup stories? What interests you about the subject/topic? What do you enjoy about writing ? I’ll just tell you I /really/ like ’em.

I actually have a really simple system you can use to get me to write anything you want.

If that doesn’t work, you can always try this too.

To be honest, the reason pup play, doesn’t come up a lot (and this is something I’ve just begun to figure out about my stories) is that I tend to be a writer who focuses on transformations over mind control. Pup play might seem to be a fetish which balances the two, but it really is more of a mind control topic, because even if someone TF’s to be pup like, most of the action still takes place internally.

That said, I do enjoy writing pup play. It’s a fun sort of mental regression, and I get the same sort of fun out of it that I get out of my occasional age regression story. As odd as that sounds, the two fetishes share a lot in common for me: a loss of responsibility for one’s life which is turned over to a master/daddy, a loss of cognitive ability and hand/eye coordination, loss of adult speech in exchange for a simpler communication style, etc. But this also gets to the heart of another reason these two genres scare me–because doing this to a person can lead to some really crazy and disturbing stories (“Into the Night of God” crazy, obviously). And while these pieces are often good, they are also disturbing as fuck to write, and so it always gets a certain “once bitten, twice shy” feeling to it.

Still, if ever there’s something you want me to write, those two links at the top are the best chance you have, beyond a hope and a prayer.

So, question to tag along to the last one, what if it’s inflation that isn’t controlled by the person being inflated. Something tied into your line of Living Latex stories, where someone gets inflated into a sort of power lifter body with that massive ball gut after a run in with a catsuit, more interesting to you, or about the same?

Well, I’m not quite sure that’s a good question, but let me try to explain why.

My point in my last point wasn’t really one about interest. It isn’t that I’m interested or not personally in inflation. Granted, if I was more personally interested in it, I’d write it more, but like I said, I write about plenty of fetishes/MacGuffins that don’t interest me. My point regarding inflation was more about efficency, or, “am I using the right MacGuffin for the story I want to tell, such that it can be told in the simplest and clearest manner possible, without overly complicating things?”

Efficiency is a hard thing to do well. There’s one story in particular I’ve seen popping up on sites, called “The Hide.” Now, it isn’t really a bad story–and the TF is interesting, involving people being turned into tattoos. But the MacGuffin the author uses is so dang complicated, I hated reading the story.

Here is the process by which someone turns into a tattoo in “The Hide”:

1. The person is placed in a large bag.

2. The bag is filled up with liquid which is acquired from the body of another person who now lives in a large tank. The liquid is breathable, and they are completely submerged.

3. The person who will have the tattoo on their body ejaculates into the bag where the person who will be the tattoo is submerged.

4. The introduction of the cum into the liquid causes a chemical reaction which makes the person’s body dissolve in the bag, and they dissolve through cumming their entire body out of their cock, essentially.

5. Now liquid, the person is used as ink and is then tattooed onto the cummer’s body, whereby they finally become a tattoo.

Complicated, right? As a writer, I look at that list and it exhausts me–I can think of many simpler MacGuffins which would have rendered a similar result, or at least a more streamlined process than this one, which is overly complex. It isn’t the best writing, and it kind of ruins what I think could have been a great piece, because the author has to redescribe this process for every single transformation in the series. Such a waste of words, at the end of the day.

Inflation, to me, is inefficient, in the same way this tattoo MacGuffin is inefficient. I can, usually, get the same result in less steps without losing the eroticism. However–like I said–if the reader or the author wants something that only inflation can provide than great! Inflation is the way to go by all means. However, these instances are rare in my fiction, my interest in inflation itself is relatively low, and so those two together create a lack of inflation play in my writing.

What do you feel about inflation? 1504-7079-0388

Inflation…hmm…

You know, as much as I love weight gain in stories, inflation to me has always seemed odd, both in real life, where people pump themselves up with air (I assume that’s the kind of inflation you mean) and in fiction, where the same thing happens, but usually in larger quantities. In real life stuff isn’t really of concern here though–because I write stuff in stories that I would never do in real life all the time, however I need to talk about it for a moment, to make clear why using it in stories doesn’t make sense to me.

Inflation is, at the end of the day, a temporary body modification, of a kind with pumping genitalia and temporary tattoos. It’s doing something to make your body look different, which can be more or less easily reversed, or which has no permanent effect (caveat, pumping for example can have permanent effects as far as growth goes, but the permanent effects are never as extreme as the temporary results). 

This temporality, to me, always infects the MacGuffin in my mind. I hesitate to use inflation, because it always bears the implicit property of “reversibility” as a MacGuffin. Put simply, transformation by inflation, implies the existence of transformation by deflation, and the possibility that someone’s transformation can just be reversed tends to suck all of the tension out of the story.

Now, it can be that in the story world there actually is no means of reversing the change, and this can redeem the MacGuffin if used well, by creating an “unexpected consequence” for the character’s actions. However, I would rather just force someone to gain weight, than go through the longer, more complex motions of something like inflation. The simpler choice is “usually” the best.

Not always though–the one thing inflation can do that I find fascinating is yield a body type which fat can’t accomplish–that hard, taut round balloon gut which is so unnatural it becomes sexy. That can’t be easily accomplished without using this MacGuffin, but I don’t feel inclined towards that body type often in stories, so I have little use for it at the end of the day.

Long story short, I think inflation itself can be sexy, but don’t feel all that inclined towards it because it implies temporality. This sense of temporality, and the limited unique uses it has as a MacGuffin in the transformations it creates, leads me to generally neglect it in my stories–not because I dislike it, but because I can usually get the same result with less effort through a more standard weight gain trope.

The Loser Part One

“What the fuck is this?”

Wilton looked at the email that had just popped up in his work inbox, with a subject in all caps: NEW GAME. He had no clue who had sent it to him, and assumed it was just spam, but he opened it out of curiosity, and read the message:

Welcome to the game! You have been invited to participate by ***REDACTED***.

The rules:

1) Do what we tell you to do, and you get a prize–we don’t change you at all!

2) Don’t do what we tell you to do, and you get punished!

Here’s your first task: masturbate in your office, and eat your load of cum out of your hand, in the next 20 minutes.

Wilton read it again, thoroughly disgusted, and looked around the office, wondering who could have sent this piece of filth to him as a prank. Sure, he wasn’t the nicest supervisor, but he didn’t think anyone would have the balls to send him something like this. He saved the message, figuring he could ask IT to maybe track the email and went back to work, only to get a second email 20 minutes later, with the subject: YOU LOSE. Rolling his eyes, he opened it and read:

You didn’t do what we asked you to do Wilton–enjoy your new beard–you can never shave it off.

Your next task is to take your lunch break, and consume at least 2000 calories in the next hour. Enjoy your meal!

Now this was getting out of hand, Wilton thought, and scratched his cheek, only to feel a massive amount of hair growing in across his face–an inch long full beard growing in over a matter of moments, and he realized the game was for real, and he grabbed his coat and rushed out of the office for lunch before anyone could see his new face.

To Be Continued…

As the self-proclaimed cool guy of the group, Marcus was always trying to stand out. He did his best to impress the ladies with his tattoos and long goatee, and always made a point of mentioning how amazing it was to work as a skydiving instructor, usually inviting girls up in the plane for a free lesson–he’d be holding onto them tight the whole way down of course. Well, while his friends liked the fact that Marcus wanted to be the cool guy, his endless preening did have a way of getting on their nerves, especially when he did it every night they went out for drinks.

It was just supposed to be an April Fool’s joke. They’d bought the six pack from some curio stand on the street corner, promising the perfect pranks for anyone, and really, how could they resist something called “Boring Beer” which promised to make even the biggest partier into the lamest wallflower? It was perfect. They surprised him with the six pack before they went to hit the bars, and insisted he drink one so they could get a photo of it, and then went out. However, Marcus just wasn’t that into it for some reason, and ditched them at ten, claiming he was tired and wanted to get to bed early.

From that day on, the group didn’t see much of Marcus. They discovered that he’d put his two weeks notice in at the sky diving tours, and it was a month later when one of them finally caught him leaving his apartment, looking very different from the Marcus they’d known and loved. He’d cut his beard off and was growing his hair back in, but he was balding severely, looking more like he was in his mid 40’s than his late 20’s, and had packed on quite the gut. Even stranger, all of his tattoos and piercings had simply vanished, and when pressed, Marcus denied ever having tattoos, saying he’d always been too chicken to even consider it. He had become a total bore, and flummoxed, his friends left and didn’t see him again.

In fact, there was only one aspect in his life where Marcus wasn’t a total bore–he’d turned into quite the pervy faggot. He spent all of his free time jacking off it seemed like, and the only thing that could get him off was humiliating himself in front of some cool young guy, who’d chat with him, taunting him, tell him he was too much of a bore to ever go to bed with someone cool like them.

Leon wanted to be big. Ever since he was young, he’d wanted to work out, and when he was a teenager, all he asked for for Christmas and birthdays was weight–lots and lots of weight. He converted the shed into a workout room, and would spend hours out there, doing all he could to become as big as he had always wanted to be, but he just couldn’t get to where he wanted. And so, after graduating from high school, he decided to turn to the internet.

He found his way through forums, looking at the various drug cocktails guys promised would do the trick, but the honest truth was that he didn’t want to get big that way–he wanted to get big by himself. However, he befriended someone on a forum who recommended a research group working on a way to build mass. He’d participated in one of the last studies, and promised Leon that it was everything he’d been looking for–he’d be more massive than he’d thought possible.

At the laboratory, he didn’t understand why they needed to restrain him. And when they’d put the mask over his nose and mouth, he fought them for the few seconds of consciousness he had before he blacked out entirely. The next thing he knew, he was back in the hotel room he’d been staying in while the research study was going on–and when he saw himself in the mirror, he let out a squeal of joy. He was big! He was so damn big, just like he’d always wanted to be!

He jiggled his massive apron and admired his triple chin. He cupped his moobs and tweaked his nipples and let out a soft moan. He admired his huge, wide ass, and shivered as his cock hardened up through his gunt. Gunt–he had gunt. He’d always wanted gunt, for as long as he could remember. The rest of the night he spent jacking off on the bed, reveling in his flabby body, becoming familiar with it in every way, and then he got the call from the clinic. He’d been so receptive to the treatment, they wanted to know if he’d be willing to sign up for another dose. He said yes–after all, he was big. But what if he could get even bigger?