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This came in as fan mail:

Since you’re asking for questions… would you ever do to someone in person what you write about? given the chance of using whatever means be it force or magick or whatever…would you SERIOUSLY do it to someone? 🙂

Short answer: No.

Longer answer: I can think of some situations where I might say yes, but by and large, the chance of those situations ever occurring are so small that the answer is essentially a no. And I don’t mean something that the ability to change someone as I wish would be hard to come by or something like that, so let me try and develop my answer a little further.

The first problematic question, assuming I had the power, would be who would I change? There would be two potential kinds of targets–those who consent and those who do not. Changing someone without consent would be pretty immoral–and there’s no one I hate enough to force a change upon that they don’t consent to. But, I’m sure there are plenty of people who would consent to being changed. Would I change them?

I don’t think I would. I think that an important part of being human is that we are given a body which we possess only limited control over, and which is generally in conflict with how we perceive ourselves. The age old mind-body problem of philosophy. If we were given the power to fundamentally change ourselves, I think we would cease to be human in an important way. 

Beyond that, how does one even begin to juggle to ethics of which transformations to allow? Some minor transformations are obviously of small enough scope to be allowed, but what if someone wants to become superhuman? Become a clone of some celebrity? Become an inanimate object? How do we even begin to sort out the questions of rights that extreme transformations would create?

It’s a big mess, and not one I feel the least bit able to handle answering. So no, I wouldn’t change anyone. Except grammar nazis–I’d make them illiterate trailer trash, just for fucking fun.

I really liked the rubber story. Do you know where I could read some more stories like that?

Well, here’s all the stories and captions I wrote and tagged with rubber: http://wesleybracken.tumblr.com/search/rubber

As for beyond that, here’s a list from the NCMC that have been tagged with rubber: http://www.eroticgayhypnosis.com/ncmc/scripts/stats.php?search=rubber#results

You can also do a search on CYOC, and there’s some good stuff on there, but that takes a bit more digging.

“You’re” is the contraction of “you are”. “Your” is the second person possessive adjective. They are not interchangeable, just a tip.

Um…thanks for the input?

So, let’s go ahead and talk about a couple of things. First of all, I don’t particularly give a fuck about editing. It’s porn, not poetry, get over it. If you want to be my copy editor, drop me a line–I can’t pay you–

But wait! If you actually gave a shit about correcting my work, you’d be kind enough to tell me where I erred, instead of just telling me that I made a mistake, which is about as nice as me jacking your cock with a glove made of sandpaper and razor wire. So, I assume that you derive some sort of pleasure out of critiquing the minutiae of people’s writing. 

Maybe grow the fuck up? What matters in language is that people understand it, not that it’s free of imperfections. The same way that everyone understands that your a total douche.

Well, I didn’t get a vignette done today, so that will have to wait until tomorrow. Still, I have a weekend story for all of you. Any of you who check CYOC might have seen some of it already–the site’s so slow it took me most of yesterday to get it all up (and as I’m writing this I’m still uploading the last two chapters). So, you can go read it over there, if you’d like, or just go here in google docs if the site is too slow for you. Just click through the links–there’s eleven pages in all. Enjoy, and if you like it, add to it on CYOC, provided the site doesn’t die imminently.

(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.

Done. It was done. Marco looked at Hugh, or, he looked at his new rubber gimp slave, who had been Hugh just a few days earlier, but who was now nothing more than a mindless drone, programmed to fulfill all of Marco’s sexual desires. 

The liquid latex solution he’d gotten at the store had sounded too good to be true, but getting a bit of it onto Hugh had been easy enough. From the small spray he’d snuck on him while they were out drinking, the rubber had spread to cover Hugh’s entire body, and over the next few days, would finish rubberizing Hugh’s internal organs–making him effectively immortal. They would never be apart now–never.

His slave climbed up onto the bed, over Marco, and he ran his hands over the smooth rubber body…when his hand hit something…sticky. He pulled it away, and just stared at his palm, which was covered with latex. He flexed, it, but it was already dry, tried to peel it off, but it had adhered to his skin–just as it had adhered to Hugh. 

In his panic, he failed to notice the rubber slave pulling down his pants, but he looked down it time to see a gooey maw open up where it’s mouth should be, little more than a hole drooling latex, and then it had engulfed his dick. He fought for a moment, but the sensation overwhelmed him, and he allowed his slave to pleasure him, watching the latex on his palm squirm and grow over his whole hand. He didn’t know what was going to happen to him, but pretty soon there were going to be two rubber drones in the room, and as scared as he was…the pleasure he was feeling was too good to resist. 

“Come on man, please–get rid of it. I’m so fuckin’ drunk.”

“Aww, but look at that, you still don’t have that nice beer belly I want for you. I think you still need lots more. Let me buy you a few more.”

“No, please–I’m begging you. No more fucking beer, I can’t drink another drop, I just can’t.”

“Hmm, alright, no more beer then. How about this instead?”

“Wait, what? ‘Piss and Cum’? No, come on, please–I can’t do that, I can’t.”

“You can’t? Really? Then you don’t want to get under the table and drink me dry? I see how thirsty you are. Go on pig, get under there.”

“Oh fuck, please no…oh, fuck…”

“Doesn’t that piss taste good? Isn’t recycled beer so much better than the real stuff? It’s going to be your favorite drink from now on, I think. Now suck me off like a good cumdump–you need some protein to go with those electrolytes after all. Oh fuck, yeah…that’s a good job for a newbie. Still, after some more practice, you’ll be giving the best blowjobs here.”

“Practice? No, come on, juts change it back.”

“But you didn’t want a beer belly. Still, it’s going to take a lot longer to plump you up on cum–so you’re going to have to be here every night from now on, begging for it, understand? Now let’s go get you settled in the bathroom. Where else would men use a urinal and cumdump like you? Yeah, and the bar is packed tonight–we’re going to have that gut of yours bulging by the end of the week, I promise.”