Author: wesleybracken8258

favorite caption you’ve ever written?

Can I give you a top five instead?

5 – Mostly because I like the filth and implicit humiliation. The lack of any obvious MacGuffin is kind of intriguing too, and you wonder just how the son is compelling his father.

4 – You see the old addiction MacGuffin thrown around so much, but I’ve always had a soft spot for “porn” addictions. This one, I thought, was a twist I hadn’t seen before.

3 – Besides the nice AR, I’ve always liked the implied progression in this one, both the gradual progression, along with the rest of the world’s apparent ignorance to what’s happening.

2 – I can’t tell you how much I want to continue this one, but alas, time hasn’t given me the opportunity yet. I just want to see him crumble so bad.

1 – Another I’d love to develop at some point in the future. Mostly, I like this because manages to encapsulate an entire story in under 500 words. Most of these are just snippets, but this one just…pulls it off wonderfully.

where else do you post work other than this page and the ncmc?

I have some stuff on FurAffinity here. Be warned, most everything there is furry oriented, but if you like guys turning into literal pigs, bears, cows, horses, etc. I’d take a look. Otherwise, everything I’ve written can be best found here on the tumblr or on the NCMC. There are a few things I haven’t posted anywhere of course, but all of that stuff is unposted for reasons.

Hey, man. Very happy to find your Tumblr page—I’ve been a fan of your writing for quite awhile. I’ve written only one transformation story, “Freaked New Life”, which I posted to the Narcissus Story page. I’ve never finished the damned thing, after the first three chapters…. Anyway, just wanted to give you a shout out, and tell you I enjoy the goodies you share with all of us! Take care, David

Dang, I loved that story! I’d love to see you finish it, or at least write something else. It was a pleasure to read. Thanks for shout out, and go write more, damn it!

Tyler gruffly watched the parade’s festivities, but he sure as hell wasn’t enjoying it. All of these fucking faggots with their disgusting rituals–it was no fucking wonder they were all going to go to hell for it. He was at one end of a small group of protesters, and for the most part, people were just ignoring them, or hadn’t even noticed them. But hell, how could they, when there were men in dresses, and chicks riding on Harleys with their breasts flapping everywhere, and men in disgusting leather straps and plugs in their butts, it was–

“Goodness, doesn’t it just make you proud?”

Tyler hadn’t noticed the man step up next to him, and he snarled back, “No, it doesn’t make me proud, it’s fucking disgusting!”

“No, you aren’t listening,” the man said, and now that he had Tyler’s attention, he locked eyes with him. The man looked perfectly normal, but…his eyes, the iris were black, but the pupils were…white. Tyler couldn’t look away, “Now, doesn’t it make you proud?”

Something felt like the world was rippling around Tyler, and as it passed, he said, “well, sure, I suppose so. I’m not gay though, I’m just an ally.” Something about that seemed like it should surprise him, but he’d come here as part of a counter-protest–wearing a short shirt with a rainbow on to show his support, but he wasn’t gay himself.

“Well, that’s better, but shouldn’t it make you prouder?” the stranger said, and another wave flew over Tyler, and he gave his head a shake. Looking down, he saw he was wearing his favorite tanktop he’d bought at one of the bear runs he’d been to, and some cut off jean shorts. “Well of course it makes me proud, but…I guess not proud enough to actually be out there, eh?” He chuckled at the man.

“Well, then shouldn’t you try and feel the proudest you can feel?”

Another wave, and then Tyler felt something in the music playing from a passing float, and he just wanted to fucking dance. He started grinding his ass into the church fuck next to him, watching the man recoil in horror that “a faggot” might have touched him, and then with a deep laugh, he pushed his way out into the street and started dancing along with the float. Sure, he was in his fifties, but he’d never in his life imagined that in his lifetime the movement could have come this far. Truly, he didn’t think that at that moment he could have been any more proud.

Creative Slump

Due to a variety of things, I didn’t quite have my creative mojo with me this week, and so I failed to get out a vignette, and also won’t have anything to post tomorrow. Hopefully next week will be better, and I’ll try to make it up to you all with an extra vignette. Have a good weekend!

“Sit down–it looks like you could use a bite to eat,” the man next to you says as you pass by on the way to the table where your friends are already sitting.

“Excuse me?” you ask, looking over at the portly gentleman in the chair at the restaurant, “Uh, but I came with friends.”

“No you didn’t–you came in alone. Now sit down and eat, I ordered too much,” he said, and added after a short pause, “On accident.”

You open your mouth to refuse, but after what feels like a blink, you’re suddenly in the chair across from him, and helping yourself to the piles of food on the table. He eats as well, and doesn’t talk to you much at all, only encouraging you to take more, and occasionally calling for the waitresses to bring the two of you, or rather just you, more food–and you eat it–all of it. And by the time you’re done, or rather, when the restaurant stops bringing you food, you are stuffed way past anything you could have ever imagined, and you sit there, groaning for a few minutes. When you do sit up and look, you see the check is paid, and the man is gone, leaving you to heft yourself up and head home, exhausted, where you fall asleep.

Things don’t feel much better when you wake up. Your gut still feels packed solid, and for some reason you just ache all over. You managed to fall asleep in your clothes, and you peel them off–they seem so much tighter than usual–and head for the bathroom, but not before you catch sight of yourself in the mirror…

No–No, that can’t be you, can it? That disgustingly fat, old…sexy, bearded man, fuck, you look so damn…hot.

“Breakfast is ready!” You hear a familiar voice call out, “Come and get it, big boy!” You don’t know what’s going on, but it looks like that wasn’t the only big meal the man from the restaurant would be shoving down your throat.

It was supposed to be a gag gift, I know that. I was retiring, and my son bought me a leather jacket for my “retirement motorcycle” which we had always joked about. I put it on at the party, and I quickly realized it was used–he’d probably bought it at the goodwill or something–he wasn’t doing the best financially, and it’s the thought that counts, right?

Well, I mean, I put it on, and wore it the whole night–it was just really comfortable, and to be honest…well…I didn’t really want to take it off. I mean, I did, at first, but before long, well…I was just kind of wearing it all the time. But it didn’t really look good with any of my clothing, so I just started cruising around second hand stores, and it was like…like the jacket knew what I should buy to wear with it, and everything I bought, fuck, I just wore it constantly. I mean, it almost hurt, physically, to take it off.

And now…fuck, now I mean…now I’ve actually got the motorcycle–a beat up Harley off Craigslist. And I’m cutting my hair and beard different–it just looks better with the jacket, you know? And sure, the cigars aren’t healthy, but they just complete the look. And…and I know, I know that I would look best at…at one of the gay leather bars downtown, I know that, I really do, it’s just…I mean, maybe I could just go and have a drink? I mean, sure, it would look great if I picked up some leather cub, and we drove off into the backcountry and fucked on the back of my bike–I bet my jacket would look real good if I was doing that…but…

Oh fuck it…I’d better just go get my helmet.

I suppose I should feel sorry for him, he is my son after all, but he’s the one who couldn’t bother to be an honest man when he grew up–no, he went the way of all those thugs at his school, dropping out, smoking cigars, getting tattoos, theft, drugs–such a disappointment. But I gave him a chance–I let him stay the night, but was sure to point out the new gold statue I’d picked up on my last business trip to China.

Sure enough, the next morning, he was gone, and so was the statue. Of course, the statue wasn’t just any statue–I’d saved a wealthy client of mine from a business scam, and as thanks, he’d given me one of his family’s treasures–a way to swap ages with someone. I mean, my Chinese is a bit poor, I’ll admit, and I had him repeat it several times to make sure, but that’s what he said. Well, I’m getting on in years, and I can make better use of his years than he will.

***

Fuck–what the fuck happened? I was this fuckin’ rich ass businessman and now I’m some fat fucking truck driver? That’s not the way that fucking statue was supposed to work! It was supposed to switch our ages, not our fucking lives. Fuck, I need a cigar–oh fuck, that’s better, mellowin’ me out. I gotta find my son, I gotta set this right. I’m gonna get that fucking statue back if I have to steal it myself.