Category: Uncategorized

My Town (Part 5)

Kyle, Todd’s older brother, had always been a brute. Even when they were kids, long before Todd had realized anything about his sexuality, he had known that, in his family’s house, there was only one true law of power, and that was sheer physical might. Perhaps, had his brother not been such a violent bully, things would have turned out differently for everyone, but as it was, he had never once allowed Todd to forget that Kyle was the one with the might. That the only person who could usurp him was their father, and so, when they were alone, he had no choice but to obey, or face the consequences.

Now that he was an adult, his violence had served his less successfully. He worked in construction, one of the few jobs around here where he could exercise his might, and still hadn’t settled down, despite being nearly thirty, and had instead settled for a series of relationships with young women he’d attempted to beat into submission. If he’d been smarter about it, he likely could have controlled them with it, like a normal abuser, but for Kyle, it was only violence that mattered–even Todd, as a child, had recognized his brother didn’t have the instinct for control, only power. It was a shame really–with more mindful violence, in this town, in this world, he could have been someone.

Instead, he lived in a trailer park, respected only because he remained nominally within their father’s orbit. He worked, and he worked out, and he worked over whatever bitch he happened to be seeing at the moment, who hadn’t yet wised up to his brother’s abusive games, or who had been lured back by his relative charm and occasional stability. The next morning, Todd relaxed around his father’s home, still a bit hungover from the rush of the day before, taking in the changes of his own body the gloves had brought on. It was a curse, allegedly, but to Todd it was a curse he was more than happy to live with. For the first time, looking in the mirror, he saw a man looking back at him, a man he’d always pictured in his head, a body he’d always desired but never been able to achieve. He was horny too, and the gloves were more than happy to encourage that, stroking him gently, but as hard as he tried to push himself over the edge, the gloves held back, merely milking his longer cock to near orgasm. They knew what he had in mind, they knew what they really wanted. Frustrated, he threw on some clothes, now a bit ill-fitting, climbed in his father’s truck and decided to stalk his brother for a bit, until their meeting in the afternoon.

He found him working on some road work downtown, and took up a spot in a small restaurant across the way where he could observe. He was…big, but not as big as he had always seemed in his memories. In fact, he seemed…almost disappointingly small after all of these years–maybe five foot ten, two hundred and twenty pounds. Thick, certainly, but he’d gone a bit to pot as well over the years. In any case, he was no longer the ripped jock stalking him in the hallways of his childhood. Still, the years hadn’t bruised his ego, apparently–he could see how he interacted with everyone on the site, the air of assumed superiority, it had him gritting his teeth, gloves aching to touch and beckon and work on him, but he waited.

He followed him home to his trailer, gave him a few minutes to settle, and then pulled up and parked, taking a moment to light himself a cigar in the cab, the smoke helping to settle his eagerness, and then he got out and walked up to the door. It took Kyle a few moments to answer, and it was clear, when he saw the stranger on the steps, he had absolutely no clue who Todd was–then again, Todd wouldn’t have recognized himself either.

“Who the fuck are you? I ain’t buying anything,” Kyle said, “Get off my property if you don’t want your face beaten in.”

It was a classic line, really. How many times had he said that to Todd when they were kids?

“Come on now Kyle, no time for a brother?” Todd said, and while it took him a couple of seconds to click the gears together, he saw recognition light up his face.

“Holy shit, Todd? What the…you fucking faggot, what the fuck are you even doing back here? Dad’s gonna have a fit if he sees you, you fuck, I oughta kick your fucking ass for showing up here, you piece of shit…”

“Trust me bro, Dad has much bigger worries at the moment–I’m here to see you.”

Todd could see the thought forming in Kyle’s mind, the violence short circuiting the rest of his reasoning, but before he could threaten and then follow through, he reached out one gloved hand and laid it on his brother’s shoulder, and saw his eyes glaze slightly.

“Bro, let me in–we need to have a conversation, don’t you think?”

Kyle found himself nodding, and when Todd gave him a gentle push back, he stepped away from the doorway and let Todd step into the trailer, the screen door shutting behind him.

“How…what the fuck was that?” Kyle asked, shaking his head.

“You shouldn’t worry too much about that,” Todd said, taking a long drag off his cigar and blowing the smoke into the trailer’s air. “Or I suppose, you can worry about that if you want, but trust me Kyle, pretty soon, you won’t be worrying about much of anything anymore.”

He was getting ready to strike. Todd could see all of his tells. He let the fist come flying, and he caught it in one gloves hand, gently, and Kyle let off a groan, his knees giving way in sudden pleasure. “I don’t think you’ll be trying that anymore, bro. We need to find a better way for you to…express yourself, don’t you think? Your fists have done enough talking for a lifetime. I want to hear some moans from now on.”

My Town (Part 4)

His dad left the stall and looked at his new figure and clothes in the grungy mirror, and true to his son’s words…it didn’t bother him at all. He knew it should, and he felt humiliated, but his small cock was rock hard in his jeans at the sight of the big bellied trucker he’d become in less than a minute.

“Something is still missing, I think–ah, of course! An old fuck like you, I bet you’d be smoking something like this,” Todd said, and again, his glove whipped out a small curved pipe, which he slipped into the pocket of his vest, “That’s for later–for now, why don’t we go have some real fun?” Todd said, with one hand on his father’s shoulder, he leaned in and started whispering into his dad’s ear, a grin twisting on his face as he did. All Edwin could do was listen, his jaw dropping in horror at what his son was telling him to do–at what his son was going to make him do–but by the time Todd was finished speaking…he wanted to do it too, and he groped his puny dicklet a couple of times, hiked the ass of his grimy jeans up, turned around and left the bathroom.

He surveyed the bar for a moment–it was much busier than it had been when he and his son had arrived, so many more…options. For a moment he looked at a table of rough construction workers enjoying some beers after work, but his eyes drew him to what he knew he wanted–what his son knew he wanted too. The thicket of bikers who had come in an hour ago, now quite drunk and clustered around the pool table after a long day’s ride. They were no group of hobbyists either–and looking at the grizzled fuckers over there, Edwin knew what he wanted–what he needed, and walked over to them.

Todd just watched as his father waded into the gang, and begged biker after biker to drag him into the bathroom and fuck his dirty trucker hole, loud enough so the whole bar could hear what was going on. The bikers didn’t know what to think about it, for a moment, and just ignored him, but Edwin didn’t like that, so he pushed things further, and started groping them, egging them on. That, it turned out, was a bad idea. Two bikers grabbed him under the arms and hauled him out the front door, the rest of the clientele giving them plenty of room as the rest of the gang followed them out, ready to give the faggot a proper beating in the parking lot. After they left, the bar picked up where things left off, and Todd slipped out, taking a spot on the porch of the bar, where he could see the ring of bikers form around his father, see him fall to his knees and beg for their cocks again, helplessly, terrified out of his mind, and then the first punch connected with his face.

The punch–the gloves shivered, and unable to stop himself, they took control of Todd’s hands, forcing open the front of his pants, one glove stroking his cock roughly, the other tugging at his balls, pulling them away from his body hard enough that he could almost hear the skin stretching. He deserved this, he thought, watching the bikers beat his father, his now faggot father, and still he was begging for a fuck–but he couldn’t stop. Todd knew he could do nothing–if he did nothing, the bikers would probably kill him, but that was better than his father deserved, it wasn’t…enough. The hand on his sack pulled away, took the cigar from his mouth, and whistled, loud and piercing, and every biker froze in place, turning to the stranger on the porch of the bar.

“Gentlemen,” Todd said, stepping down, feeling…taller. More imposing. Even a bit…older. His cock was still out, and he was still stroking it with his free hand, but none of the bikers seemed to mind this. “No, not gentlemen, nothing gentle about you lot, right?”

The bikers all laughed. It sounded forced, compelled from their lips.

“This has been a good show, I must say, but don’t you think it would be better for everyone if you simply gave the faggot what it wants? After all, what’s a gay biker gang without a sex slave pig to haul around with you, right?”

The bikers felt a wave pass through them. It left them feeling uneasy, and unsure of themselves–Todd could tell it wasn’t quite enough. He made eye contact with his father, eyes swollen, bloody mouth, a tooth lost on the ground beside him, and Edwin knew what he needed to do, what he had to say. “Please, I’m just a stupid faggot trucker. I’m worthless, with a tiny fuckin’ dick. I was made…to serve you, please let me be your biker bitch.”

“Come on guys, if one of you rough fucks hasn’t got a hardon, hearing that, then kill the pig.”

As it turned out, none of them were soft. With a few whoops, they headed for their bikes parked along the front of the bar, a couple dragging Edwin over and tossing him into a bitch seat. He glanced over at his son, eyes wide with terror, but Todd just sneered at him. “Don’t worry dad, you’ll be back home in a few days, probably.”

Edwin tried to shout something, but it was lost over the sound of the roaring engines. The gang took off, leaving Todd in the dust and smoke of his cigar, and with one more rough tug, his cock exploded all over the ground in front of him, his body shuddering. He fell to his knees, out of breath, mind heady with the rush of power he’d just wielded, to bend the wills of so many men, all at once–he’d known it would be possible, but the act of doing it was something else entirely. It was a minute before he could stand again, and when he did, he looked different. Taller by a few inches, shoulders wider, chest inflated with some muscle, a bit of grey in his beard. He went back to his father’s car and climbed in–he needed some sleep, and then, in the morning, he’d pay his brother a long overdue visit.

The Carnival (Part 5)

Together, Jake and Will slid down the slide underneath the Freakish Factory sign, expecting it to be a relatively short drop–but instead, they seemed to plummet for quite a while–several stories at least, before the slide shallowed out and launched them into the air. They landed on a soft, rubbery pad several yards away, and several yards lower than the slide, with no obvious way back up, as Jake had suspected up above. Whatever Daniel found down the slide he’d chosen, the Mirrors of Delight, he’d have to deal with alone. Still, it was just a silly carnival attraction, right? Then again, it seemed like they’d been in here for hours, somehow–shouldn’t the ride me over by now? Instead, they were apparently just getting started.

There was a narrow corridor not too far from the rubber pad, and the floor was no longer wood and concrete, but steel. In the distance, they could hear something rattling, clunking and grinding, but there was no immediate sight of anything mechanical, making the entire settling rather ghostly. They went into the corridor, lit with dim, industrial bulbs, and they only made it a short distance before Will stepped in something sticky, made a noise of disgust, and looked down at his shoe.

The thing he’d stepped in was a puddle of some sort, but what it was a puddle of, he had no idea. It was almost pitch black, with just a bit of reflective sheen to it. He wanted to touch it, but hesitated, trying to wipe it off the sole, but it wouldn’t come away. When he did finally touch it, he found that it had dried into a smooth rubber in just a few moments, though the puddle was still wet. “What the hell is this, some sort of leak?” he asked, showing what he’d found to Jake.

“Latex of some sort, I bet…but I don’t see where it could have come from.”

Is there a leak or something?”

“I don’t know why they would be pumping liquid latex through a funhouse.”

Will just shrugged, unable to come up with another explanation, and Jake didn’t offer anything else either, and they continued on their way, one of Will’s shoes feeling uncomfortably slick, and every few yards they found another puddle to step around, until the flooring changed into a rubber substance of some kind. Then, around the next corner, they discovered the source of the strange rubber substance, because up ahead some shower had been set up across the entire pathway, hosing the black goo down into a trough. There didn’t seem to be any other way past, though neither one of them had any interest in passing through the shower, and getting covered in the muck.

“Let’s go back–maybe we missed another path somewhere back there.”

“Yeah, this can’t be right…”

They turned around and started walking, but it took a couple of moments for them to realize they weren’t making any progress…because the rubber flooring, it turned out, was a conveyer belt driving them back into the shower of goop. They ran faster, hoping to out pace it, but it kept speed with them perfectly, and it wasn’t long before they began to tire. Jake tripped first, tumbling backward and rolling into the trough and under the goop. Will didn’t last much longer, and he too fell, and was rolled right along into the stuff as well. It coated everything, matting his clothes uncomfortably to his body, slicking down his hair, covering most of him in an even layer of rubber that hardened almost instantly, as soon as he was out from under it on the other side, where Jake was sitting, trying to peel the stuff off with no success.

“What kind of fucking shit is this?”

“Who the hell knows. Let’s just get out of here and then we can complain.”

They kept going, and the rattling and banging was getting louder. The floor was still rubber matting–if they tried to backtrack, it would turn into a conveyor belt each time, forcing them to continue, and there seemed to be more showers of the gunk around each corner. Before long, the two of them were covered in layers and layers of the filth, struggling along, trying to keep their mouths and noses clear so they could breathe, and their eyes clear so they could see. But they collapsed before too long, the belts turning on and pushing them onward, more and more rubber coating them until they came to a large room–and the source of the rumbling that neither of them could see at that point, or even hear very well. It was some massive machine, lumbering along in the dark, blowing steam and leaking oil all over, and the sign over the conveyor the two of them were on read, “Raw Material Line.”

But raw material for what, exactly?

What is this machine going to do to our happless college boys? If there are two popular options, then their fates will be split.

  1. The machine molds them into physical freaks–silicone body mods, puppy body conversion, etc.
  2. They become rubber drones designed for particular uses–living fuck toys, human toilet, etc.
  3. They are broken down and processed into inanimate objects–rubber clothing, sex toys, etc.

The twitter poll

The Patron poll

Polls close on Sunday!

My Town (Part 3)

“Calm down dad–no one is going to notice a thing, as long as you don’t moan as loudly as you did when I fucked back at home,” Todd whispered in his ear, one gloved hand massaging the crotch of his slacks.

The two of them had spent the afternoon and early evening getting acquainted. Todd had finished his cigar while his father sucked him off nice and slow, and then he’d fucked him on his bed and made sure Edwin was nice and loud with the window’s open–enough that the neighbors outside might have possibly heard the commotion. So far, Todd had done his best to keep the gloves from altering his father too much, but the exciting afternoon had left a few effects. The most notable one, by far, was the beard Edwin was sporting across his face and neck–thick and bushy, and a bit greyer than the hair on his head. Still, a little weight there, a little hair there–he’d beared up nicely. By the time Todd was finished, he almost looked like someone he wanted to fuck.

Still, Todd wasn’t planning on keeping his dad as a personal slut. Sure, that had been his fantasy for years, but with his new gloves…well, he’d decided that he could set my sights a bit higher than that now. Still, his dad, and the rest of this fucking town, needed to be taught a lesson–a hard one. Well–really Todd was just going to make them live by their own rule–that appearance and presentation are everything. If Todd was going to hurt his father like he deserved to be hurt…well, he was going to have to suffer a few changes right?

But for now, they were relaxing for a moment, just a couple of guys in a booth at the trucker bar on the outskirts of town, the one his dad had always warned him about. It wasn’t quite a rowdy as it had been twenty years back, but it still carried a reputation. “Drink your beer, dad–look like you’re enjoying yourself a bit.”

Edwin picked up the mug and drank about half of it, and then set it back down. “Look, Todd, I’m sorry, alright? But enough is enough. I am your father, and I demand you get your hand off of my crotch.”

Todd just smiled, “Dad, I still don’t think you quite realize the level of shit you’re in–why don’t we go ahead and head into the bathroom for a bit?”

“Please, not here.”

“Calm down–we’ll do it wherever I fucking want, but this is going to be…different.”

The glove pointed to the bathroom, and his dad was compelled to go. Todd waited a beat, and then followed him. The bar was lively, and no one was paying them much mind. Inside the bathroom, he told his dad to go into the handicap stall, and then the glove ordered the other two guys present out of the room. They obeyed…but weren’t quite sure why they did. Then, Todd slipped into the stall with him.

He took a moment to look his dad over. Aside from the beard, and a bit of weight on his midsection, he was still the upstanding elder of the community he’d always believed he was. Todd had even made him dress in the same outfit he’d come home in, the waist of the khakis a bit uncomfortable, but otherwise untouched. “Now dad, you were always so ashamed of me, and my lisp, and my size. You had me marked as a faggot from the age of then–the fact that I like cock was always incidental. If I’d been more of a man, I could have at least hidden it, right?”

Edwin’s silence at the accusation was all the confirmation he needed.

“Well dad–since you think appearances matter so much, I think it’s time you tried on a new look.”

With both hands, he reached out and took hold of the suit coat his father had on, gave it a tug, and they both felt it squirm in his hands. A moment later, it wasn’t a coat anymore, but a ragged looking leather vest.

“How…how did you do that?”

“It’s easy, if you know the trick,” Todd said, ran a hand over the shirt, and the buttons disappeared, the front coming together seamlessly until it was just a grubby looking t-shirt, emblazoned with the logo of some forgotten truck stop, and the pants were next, turning into a pair of old jeans, the belt unlatching, and slinging over his shoulders into a set of suspenders. Lastly, he bent down and tugged at his shoelaces, watching as they grew up his ankles into a set of grubby work boots, caked with mud. “See? A brand new wardrobe in ten seconds flat,” Todd said, “but it’s what’s underneath that counts too, right?”

Todd grabbed hold of his father’s crotch with one hand, kneading his cock again, and this time Edwin felt a shift as his six inch cock began to retract, halving in size as his balls pulled up tight. His son’s other hand stroked his stomach, and it began to round out, becoming a hefty beach ball of a gut, stretching the t-shirt to the limit, the words of the logo a bit warped by the size, his father forced to lean back a bit to counter it. Todd came close, pressing his own stomach to his dad’s new belly, reached around, and palmed his ass, feeling it grow out as well, filling out the seat of his new jeans. Lastly, he mussed up his father’s hair, watching it grow out a bit and turn lanky, his beard tangled, and with a snap of his fingers a trucker cap appeared in one hand, and he rested it on his father’s head.

“Go on dad, have a look–but I think you’ll like what you see,” Todd said, stroking his father’s cheek with one hand.”

My Town (Part 2)

Edwin took good care of himself, and was in fine shape for a man nearing sixty, but he was someone who had always considered a proper, masculine, appearance to be the most important quality a man could possess. He was dressed in his usual Saturday attire–a bit dressed down from his usual suit and tie for the weekdays. Clean shaven, hair maneuvered into position over his receding hairline, sweating slightly from the hot day outside. He loosened his tie and shut the door, walked into the house and noticed the furniture had shifted, and that a relative stranger was sitting in his chair, facing him, smoking a cigar.

“Who the fricken–” he said, and then looked a bit closer. It had been a long time, but the resemblance was there. “Todd?”

“Hey dad. How have things been?”

It didn’t…quite sound like Todd, though. In particular, that lisp was gone. Edwin had always hated the sound of his youngest boy’s voice, it had always given away the little faggot’s weakness, and it had implied weakness in Edwin as well. He’d never really cared who the boy wanted to fuck, but his sissy ways had undermined the family, in Edwin’s mind. He’d been happy to see the boy leave, and was pleased that the time away had apparently helped him man up somewhat. In fact, Todd looked…good. Healthy, clothes on his back, didn’t seem to be drugged out. “Son, I…wish you’d called, and told me you were coming.”

“And spoil the surprise?” Todd grinned around his cigar, and with one gloved hand, beckoned his father over to him. “Come on daddy, let your boy get a good look at you.”

Something in his son’s tone set Edwin’s hair on edge, but he walked over anyway, eyes locked on the gloved finger drawing him in. He could almost hear the slight squeak of the leather as he drew closer. He intended to stop a few feet away, but his feet kept walking him right up in front of his son in the chair, until the finger stopped moving. Before he could move away, his son’s other hand reached out and stroked the side of his thigh, and Edwin…shivered. It had felt wrong, being touched by that glove, but why? The hand took his own, and the feel of the leather against his fingers, it was so supple. He barely heard his son’s voice speaking to him.

“Go on daddy, drop those pants, and take off that shirt.”

Edwin did has Todd told asked, and when the leather glove brushed it’s way down his bare thigh, he realized why it had felt so wrong. It was because he’d had clothes on, of course. The leather…it felt so good on his bare skin, better than anything he’d ever felt. Todd kept stroking his father’s thighs and small gut, listening to him mutter and sigh as he undressed, until he was naked in front of him. “Looking as good as ever, Daddy–but looking good is all that ever really mattered to you, right? That, and always making sure you kept proper company.”

Edwin knew this wasn’t right, that he shouldn’t be naked like this in front of his son–especially not his faggot son–but everytime one of those gloved hands ran down his thigh or stomach, he lost a little more will to care–he just wanted to be touched. Todd tugged down on his father’s hand, and watched him wobble, and then sink to his knees in front of him. Lightly, he caressed his face with both gloved hands, watching his jaw go slack. “That’s good, daddy, that’s very good. Now, I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, and I want to see your real face around my cock first. Then we’re going out tonight, and we’ll see what sort of company you keep from now on, daddy.”

Todd unzipped the fly of his jeans with one hand, and pulled his cock free, shuddering as he did when the leather touched flesh. Helplessly, he watched his hand stroke his own cock, beyond his control, the shaft lengthening and thickening from a modest four inches to seven. Then, he took his father’s head in his hands, and pushed the dribbling head to his lips, Edwin happily accepting it, so long as the lovely leather remained against his skin a while longer. Todd took a long drag off his cigar, and released a thick cloud of smoke over his father’s head, making him cough. Edwin had always hated smoke, but he fought through it, eyes burning slightly, because the gloves wanted him to. Because Todd wanted him to. Todd pushed his father’s mouth off his cock, holding him in place with both hands, took another draw off the cigar and locked lips with him, pushing smoke deep into his father’s lungs, making him hold it until he coughed and gagged–then he rammed his cock back into his mouth and fucked his face roughly for a few minutes, barely giving him space to breathe.

“That’s right you fucker–your boy’s back in fucking town. Is this man enough for you, daddy? Is this man enough for you yet? Because trust me, I’m going to be more man than this little fucking town can handle soon enough, just you fucking wait and see.”

The gloves, he could feel them fighting him, and one peeled away from his father’s head and dragged his hand back towards Todd’s body, hauling up his shirt and grabbing his nipples, twisting and pulling at them. Todd groaned, feeling them grow larger and fuller the more the glove played with them, and with a sharp pain, he looked down and saw metal piercings had appeared in both of them. Apparently satisfied, the glove allowed his hand to return to Edwin, stroking his smooth cheek, feeling a thin layer of stubble grow under his fingers. There would be more of that, soon enough, Todd thought, thinking of his plans, of the plans of his gloves, and he filled his father’s mouth with a massive load, listening to him choke it down like the good whore he was going to be soon enough.

My Town (Part 1)

If you had asked Todd, when he was first wrestling with his desires, which possibility he thought was worse–being gay, or having everyone think you were gay–he would have said the latter. Being gay was only secondary to the fact that, in the mind of the small town where he grew up, he checked all of the gay boxes. Short and lithe, high voice with a slight lisp, pale skin and thick lips–he was a faggot to the world regardless of who he wanted to fuck. For better or worse, he happened to like dick on top of that. His father essentially disowned him, his older brother, Kyle, and his friends tormented him at school, and shortly after his sixteenth birthday, he’d stolen 200 dollars from his father’s wallet and run away to the closest city, imagining it had to be better than this dump. No one cared that he had gone, and no one cared to know what had happened to him. What mattered most, was that he wasn’t there anymore–the town had done its job, and had preserved itself. Within the year, he was forgotten by most, and the few who did remember him–particularly his father and brother–saw no reason to ever discuss him again. As far as they were concerned, he might as well be dead, and so they carried on.   

It was eight years later, on a sunny Saturday morning in late April, that a greyhound pulled into the depot off main street one morning, and one person got off, carrying no baggage, just the clothes on his back. No one recognized Todd. The gangly young boy had grown taller, but stayed thin, the hair he’d always kept long was shaved close to his scalp, he had blond scruff on his chin and cheeks. To this day, no one in town knows where Todd had lived or what he had done to survive for those years he was away. They did know why he came back, in the end. Todd had a few scores to settle, both with his family and the town that had failed him, and he’d decided it was time to collect.

He cracked the knuckles of both hands, the leather gloves he was wearing flexing as he did, reached into a pocket and pulled out a cigar. As he walked down the street he lit it, smoking it slowly as he walked down the familiar road, seeing which shops had closed, and which were still there. Like many towns, the years had hollowed it out–all of the young blood which could leave, had–just like Todd–though most had gone to college and simply never returned. Those who remained were invested in this place, in an imagined purity of it. It was a place Todd would have never been allowed to survive, but it could change. It would change. He would change it.

No one recognized him, and he no longer looked to be out of place, beyond his status as a stranger in a closeknit community. People passing him by assumed he was one of many young men who tended to arrive during the Spring and Summer for seasonal work up in the nearby mountains, either planting trees, or cutting them down. He cut down a sidestreet, headed for his father’s house. He’d placed a call there the week before, while he was planning his return, just to make sure they hadn’t moved, and of course they hadn’t. His father wasn’t going to be pried from his house until he was dead–it wasn’t a slight, that was something he had said on any number of occasions. He loved his house and he loved this town, and everyone knew him by name–Mr. Edwin Lobart–it was a shame, to Todd, that he’d never loved his family the same way.

He gave a rough knock on the front door, but as he’d expected no one was home. His brother had gotten married a few years back to some woman he’d known in high school–Todd hadn’t been invited, of course, but he’d observed it from afar on facebook. His father was rarely home on Saturdays–he was at the farmer’s market, manning the city table as a councilman, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, his eye on the mayoral race this coming fall. He’d likely be home in early afternoon, but Todd could wait. It would give him a moment to take a look around.

Little had changed since he’d left. In fact, he was surprised by just how little had changed. He felt like an entirely different person, and simply being in this space was like a haunting of some past he’d outgrown long before. Everything was smaller than he remembered, when the whole world had seemed to loom over him. Upstairs, his room was storage now–his old things and other detritus stored away in boxes, the furniture long since sold off at garage sales. He ran his gloved hands over the dusty surface, and then wiped them off on the curtain before leaving the room. He found a bowl in the kitchen to use as an ashtray, and knocked off a sizable cinder. Back in the den, he grabbed hold of his father’s recliner–still the same old sunken La-Z-Boy after all of these years–and spun it around, away from the TV and towards the front door. He pulled a side table with the bowl beside him, and kept smoking, one leg over the other, booted foot swinging, relaxing and waiting for the sound of a key in the door, which would announce his father’s return home.

It was an hour and a half later, with Todd halfway through his second cigar, bored and groping himself, that he heard the click. He leaned back, one gloved hand still on his crotch, feeling how excited his hands had become–or his gloves, really. The material had tightened against his hands, and was shivering slightly. They could feel their Master’s excitement as well. The door opened and Edwin stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and then noticed the furniture had been rearranged, and a relative stranger was sitting in his chair, smoking a cigar.

How much percentage of time and energy do you spent on writing? As a free rider it would be sorry to see you burnout.

It varies a bit from month to month, but let me summarize it this way. Here’s the base amount of words I publish in a month:

For the tumblr, I post around 1000 words a day seven days a week (currently), so that’s about 30,000 words, give or take a day.

For Patreon, I post about 8000-10,000 bonus content per month separate from that.

Then, for Patreon commissions, I write anywhere from 10,000 to 13,000 words, though some of that can overlap with the tumblr stuff.

That’s…basically anywhere from 45,000 to 60,000 words a month, at a minimum–I have months where I’m more productive than that, and I have some where I’m less (like this month, which was…a bit rough, getting everything done!)

If I’m writing at speed, I can do around 1500 to 2000 words an hour, so over the course of the month, if I’m working at my most efficient speed (hahaha, yeah right) then I put in around 30 hours a month writing. That doesn’t account for administrative stuff, like discussing commissions, editing, revising, managing Patreon, brainstorming, etc. I’m also not usually working efficiently, so I’d ballpark it at 40-50 hours a month, or 10-15 hours a week. My general goal is to write 10,000 words a week, and sometimes I can hit 15,000 if the stars align.

As far as burnout goes….that’s a legitimate concern. It hasn’t really reared its; ugly head as badly as it has in the past, I think, and I do have quite a bit of content squirreled away if I really hit a rough patch. Mostly I just need the money more than anything else, especially since income has been tight for us the last few months, due to some job struggles. If anything, I mostly feel bad that the daily grind of the tumblr posts really cuts into a lot of the longer form stories I want to write, publish and post someday, but which I just don’t have time to work on. For now, this is working, and I enjoy it, and I’m glad other people enjoy it, and anyone who can pitch in one buck, or buy one of my stories on itch.io, or hell, just pitch me a couple bucks on paypal or zelle or whatever has my unending gratitude.