Category: Uncategorized

Metawriting #3 – Dominance and Submission

The “Me” versus “Them” pattern set up in the last installment is understandably simplistic. While it might be true that most readers and writers fall into one camp or the other, it by no means defines the extent of a story’s appeal, nor would we want it to, because that would yield a genre quite boring and incapable of much variation. So what other variables are there which might play a role in what makes a MC/TF story “good?” Or put in a better way, what other sorts of expectations are readers bringing to the table that we can manipulate in a story, which will make them respond positively?

One sizable issue which I haven’t broached yet is the question of dominant and submissive attitudes in MC/TF stories, in part, because the issue can be approached from many different directions. For the moment, I want to argue against what I think to be a prevalent assumption about this genre, and one I run into fairly often. One common question people ask when they message or write me about my stories is whether I see myself as the transformer or the transformee in my work. The assumption at work here is that, depending on whether we prefer a dominant or submissive role in our fantasies, this then determines who we identify with in a story. I’m never entirely sure how to answer this question, mostly because I think it’s the wrong question. Here’s why.

When we read a story, who do we usually identify with? Let’s take a common, well known tale like “The Wizard of Oz.” The easy answer, and the right answer, would be to say Dorothy and her companions. Now, why do we identify with those characters? Well, there are lots of possible reasons, like, “because they’re the protagonist,” or what have you. Now, take a different story, “Wicked” (Note: I have neither seen the musical nor read the book, but I don’t think I need to for the sake of this commentary) and the question is the same: which character do we identify with? I believe the answer would be the Wicked Witch of the West, but then why? If she too is a protagonist, why not also root for her in “The Wizard of Oz?” The issue here, is that often, who we identify with isn’t determined by the character’s qualities, but by the author, and how the author tells the story. So tying character identification to qualities of the reader seems fundamentally misguided, because the same character has to potential to be presented in a wide variety of ways depending on how the story is written.

Here’s another problem, sticking with the same examples. Now, let’s assume that readers do identify with the characters who are in the roles most like them in a story. Then, if we take a survey of everyone who’s seen The Wizard of Oz, then the only characters people should identify with are those who share their qualities or flaws. While this notion might be understandable, in practice, I think it undervalues people’s capacity for empathy. Part of what stories do is make us identify with and understand people who aren’t like us. While it might be, in a sense, easier for us to identify with the characters we most resemble, that doesn’t mean that the goal of a story has to be to fit readers into those particular roles they feel most comfortable in.

Alright, it might be apparent I have an axe to grind here, so I’ll leave my issues there. As a caveat, I do think there are lots of stories where the focus is ambiguous, where either the dominant or the submissive characters can be fully identified with. The larger point I want to make is that writers have the power to determine who our readers identify with and why they identify with them. Bringing this back around to a discussion about dominance and submission, choosing as our protagonist a dominant or submissive character can create very different kinds of stories suited for different reader experiences. (Some authors manage to play with this by telling the same story from both dominant and submissive perspectives, like the first two parts of this story from Peircedskin or this three part tale from Schrijver). If I choose a dominant character as my protagonist, most often the result is going to be a power fantasy of some sort. I’m not a huge fan of writing these kinds of stories, but they are popular with many people. On the other hand, choosing a submissive character as a protagonist will usually generate something more akin to a horror or suspense tale (I often tell people I write horror porn–they think I’m joking but I’m not.)

Now, if we put this second duality in the context of “Me” or “Them” stories, we end up with a 2×2 grid:

|1. Dominant/“Me”   |2. Submissive/“Me”    |

|3. Dominant/“Them |4. Submissive/"Them”|

Stories in (1) are personal power fantasies. A character is given a MacGuffin which they use to change themselves into their ideal image, hopefully with some potentially funny/tragic consequences. Stories in (2) are self-torture fantasies. A character is taken by another and forcefully manipulated into being whatever that dominant antagonist wants them to be. Stories in (3) are those of vengeful retribution. A weak character is given a MacGuffin which allows them to take revenge and manipulate others for the sake of their own pleasure. Stories in (4) are tales of vengeance as well, but focus on the various changes made to the victims, rather than the pleasure derived by the changer at their expense, indeed, the changer need not even be present at all.

Of course, plenty of stories drift between categories or sit on the boundaries. This isn’t to say either that a particular reader will only like stories from one category. The point, rather, is to be aware of what kind of story you’re writing, so as to better anticipate how a reader will respond to it, and to keep in mind how to structure and develop your main character to make him welcoming to a wide variety of readers even if your story is targeting a specific section of the audience.

Bait and Switch (Part 3)

“I just don’t understand why you feel the need to dress like that,” Bruce said as they walked down the street to the bar under the streetlights, “I mean, don’t you feel a little bit of shame at making people look at that?”

Charles rolled his eyes. Ever since they’d left the hotel, Bruce hadn’t let up once about his chosen attire–or lack thereof. All he had on were some very short black shorts pulled over his gut and held up by leather suspenders, with black boots on his feet, and another cigar burning in his bearded jaws. “Not everyone is ashamed of their body you know. Trust me, in a few more years, chances are you’ll look like this too, so you’d better start thinking about how you’re gonna feel about that.”

“Ha, not if I can help it.” Bruce said, sporting one of the tailored suits from the room. He didn’t have any other clothes, and it wasn’t like he planned on picking anyone up at a bear bar anyway. They found the bar a few blocks away, and discovered that it was a bit sleazier than either of them were expecting. It made no beef about it being a leather bar, and even Charles didn’t feel like hitting on any of the crude bikers and leather men he saw hanging at the bar and the corners of the room. Still, he didn’t see the bear from earlier anywhere in the bar, and he’d even arrived a well after dark just to make sure he’d get there first. A bouncer came up to them however, and said to Charles, “Hey, you Carl?”

“Oh…uh, yeah…” he replied, recalling the name the bear had used earlier at the pool, “I think…yeah, where is he?”

“He rented one of the backrooms. Number three. It’s through the door there next to the bar,” the man said, then started off again.

“Hey, wait, did you happen to get his name?”

The bouncer looked back at them rolled his eyes and just kept going. Charles didn’t know if it was because he thought his question had been a joke, or just a stupid question. Maybe both. He shrugged at Bruce, and together they went through the door, down a dark, nearly unlit hall, and found the door with a crooked three hanging on it. It was unlocked, and after a moment of hesitation, Charles opened the door and stepped inside.

Sure enough, the bear was waiting for him, dressed in fairly typical leather gear, but it was immediately apparent that he hadn’t expected Bruce to join them. There was a flash of surprise across both of their faces, but it was Bruce who spoke, “I…I remember! I remember you in the bar, and we talked about…about–oh god, you–what have you done to us?”

With a flick of the wrist, the bear slammed the door shut behind both of them, trapping them inside. “So the two of you have been talking? Sharing notes?”

“I don’t…what’s going on?” Charles asked Bruce.

“I remember now. I was at the bar two nights ago, when this guy came up and bought me a drink. I thought he wanted sex, but he just wanted to talk, and he did want to talk about you. I don’t know why, but I remember…I remember telling him that I was envious of your life, your old life–and it has to be you doing this to us. What did you do?”

“My life? You wanted to be a bear?” Charles asked, still not understanding.

“Well he’s thicker than I expected,” the bear said, “How about you quiet down and let me talk to Bruce for a moment,” the bear said, and Charles felt a force throw him back against the wall, knocking his cigar from his mouth a set of manacles locking down all on their own, a gag floating off the wall and inserting itself into his now empty mouth. “Better. Now, you. You shouldn’t be here. I gave you what you wanted–a youthful body, freedom from smoking, a good mind. Now why don’t you just run along and enjoy yourself and leave me to my work?”

“Dude, this is sick. Change us back! I didn’t want this, and this guy didn’t even do anything to either of us! This is fucked up.”

“Like you know anything about what’s going on here,” the bear said.

“Look, just change us back, alright? Why are you even doing this to us?”

The bear was just silent, Bruce staring at him. It suddenly occurred to Charles that, more likely than not, his roommate was in way over his head. This guy obviously had some sort of powers, magic or what not, but he couldn’t say anything to try and warm him. “What would it take to get you to leave? What else do you want?” the bear finally said, grinning a bit. “I mean, you don’t really miss your old body do you? And you told me how much you hated being old and a smoker. I know you don’t want that back. So what do you want?” Bruce didn’t know how to respond, but the bear was already walking towards him, and given Bruce was backed up against the locked door, he didn’t have anywhere to go. “It’s the life you want, isn’t it? You don’t want to be a businessman, you just want to be a dumb chaser, working a blue collar job and fucking every bear you see, don’t you? Hell, even if that’s not what you want, I’m sure that will be plenty to get rid of you.”

There was a glow in his hand, and in it Charles recognized the same strange light which infused the grey spaces of his dreams, and then he slammed the palm of his hand against Bruce’s forehead, yielding a flash of light bright enough to make Charles wince. When he could see again, he saw a very different Bruce standing by the door. Gone was the suit he’d had on, replaced by a pair of filthy, ripped denim shorts, his hair shorn to the scalp, and the trace of a thin goatee around his mouth. He grinned widely, looking from the bear in front of him towards Charles chained on the wall and grinned. “Well, I don’t know what’s going on in here, but any chance I could join in? Looks like a lot a fun to me. How about it daddy bear?” he said, grabbing the bear’s crotch lewdly.

Charles wanted to cry. He hadn’t even known Bruce that well, but to see his mind wiped out like that…it was terrible. It didn’t even look like he remembered either of them, or what was going on here. Who in the fuck was this bear? Why in the hell was he doing this?

“Maybe later–but for now, go sleep,” the bear said, and sent the newly remade Bruce crumpled to the ground, deep asleep. “Now, that’s better. How about we get down to our business?” With a flip of a finger, the gag popped out of Charles’ mouth, the cigar floating back into his mouth.

“You…you killed him. How could you do that? He didn’t do anything to you!”

“Don’t blame me–you’re the one who brought him here. Besides, he’ll be plenty happy like that, trust me. Bears love chasers like him. I’m sure he’ll love going from bear run to bear run, fucking all the way. It’s not like that isn’t what he was doing with his life anyway.”

“Why me? Why us? What is this all about?” Charles focused as hard as he could, trying to piece together everything he had seen, and he felt a burst of clarity. He hadn’t been this bear two days ago. He’d been a smart, healthy young businessman, and now…Now this bear had taken all of that from him and turned him into a filthy, cigar smoking bear. He looked down at what he was wearing and felt a wave of disgust roll through him. He looked just like all those bears he’d hated, and worst of all, he hadn’t even noticed what was going on! Bruce had been smarter than him, and look at him now. He looked at the bear, trying to break his hands out of the chains desperately, knowing he had to get away from here as fast as he could, or who knew what was going to happen to him.

“Don’t worry Carl. I’m only doing this because I love you. Just one more change, and then I promise everything will make perfect sense, and then we’ll be back together, just like I promised. Now, how about you go to sleep? There’s one more dream you need to have, and then we’ll be finished.”

The bear’s fingers were waving in front of his eyes now, and Charles did his best to look away, but they were…sparkling. It was hard to see, but the small glimmers were there, he was certain of it. If only he could focus closer, harder, if only…

The next thing he knew, he was back in the grey of the nether. In his mind, Charles knew he was dreaming, and he tried to fight it, to get away from the force holding him in place, now drawing him forward. However, it wasn’t Bruce he was facing this time, it was someone, or something else. A white spot in his vision, almost like a blind spot–like there was something there but he couldn’t see it, slipping through his vision. And the bear was there, making motions, drawing him closer to the spot, but it looked like he was struggling with…something. Where the going had been smooth in the past two dreams, this time he moved forward in jerks and sudden halts, but he didn’t think he was the one fighting the bear off. Still though, he could feel the bear drawing him and the spot closer together until he was mere inches away, and then he felt it enter him, like they had suddenly intersected in space.

Regret–anger. A flurry of emotions surged through him, overwhelming him. It was a person, the spot was a person, but not just anyone. Carlton Cassidy, born on May 6th, 1961, the lover of Samuel Davis until he was killed in a car crash two months ago. It was a ghost, he was being possessed by a ghost, he could feel himself drifting away, obliterated bit by bit as Sam, the bear, forced them together, and the ghost–Carl–he was angry. Furious. He didn’t want to live again, he didn’t want to take a life as his had been taken, not through violence or through rage. The surge of spirit inside him ripped him away from Sam’s spell, and he heard a voice speak through his lips, “Sam, don’t this isn’t right. This isn’t what I want.”

“Quit fighting me Carl!” the bear shouted back, focusing harder, trying to keep the spell together, “This is the only way! I’m not going to lose you, I can’t lose you.”

Pity, Love. Too many emotions, burning and ripping through his mind and body, every pass obliterating something else of his mind. Charles couldn’t hold on much longer, he tried to fight it, to keep himself together but he had no defenses. He could sense that Carl was shielding him from as much as he could, and now…now he was floating closer to Sam, his arms out, ready to embrace him. It wasn’t the only way they could be together, there was another. The light from his body, from Carl’s spirit burned him and when he circled his arms around Sam, the flames were so strong he couldn’t even grasp them, caught in the inferno of love and lust and vengeance of these two lovers ripped apart from each other, the ether ripped apart around him, and he fell out of their embrace, down into darkness.

He fell, unable to think or feel, his body mangled and torn apart, charred in places. He hit the ground, some kind of ground suddenly. He was certain he was dead, but he wasn’t. The dream…the dream was still there, but he couldn’t remember anything, his mind a muddle of Charles and Carl, of love and fear and anger and disgust and then he saw he wasn’t alone. Bruce–floating, asleep–coming closer, his eyes opening. They saw each other–into each other, and something…he couldn’t remember. It was hot once more, but no longer ripping him apart, instead pulling him back together, dragging him out of the depths, ripping him down and into Bruce’s arms and onto the floor of the dingy bar’s backroom–awake, and alive.

He didn’t have much recollection of what happened next. They were alone when they’d woken up, aside from a curious pile of ash on the ground between them. The first thing either of them remembered clearly was Bruce pulling Charl down from the wall, the manacles opening all on their own suddenly, the big bear crashing down on top of the slim chaser. They’d helped each other up, looked in each other’s eyes…and as they often told their friends, the rest was history.

Neither one of them could ever say why, they just felt right together, and when they both discovered that they had a key to the same hotel room, well they just considered it luck and destiny. Charl never did manage to recall what had happened in that room, or much else about himself. There were fragments but nothing substantial. Seeing a psychiatrist, and then a neurologist, both were puzzled–it looked like his brain’s synapses had been burned clean. There was no evidence of damage, and yet–it looked like something had jumbled all of them up into patterns which made no sense. Charl decided it was best to not worry about it. He had love, at least.

His dreams though, did trouble him. Dreams of fire and love which he could never remember but left him caught between sorrow and lust when he awoke which were so fierce that he’d nearly always roughly fuck Bruce immediately after, sobbing his eyes out the entire time. Bruce would hold him in bed afterwards, pulling him close, not knowing what to say, but somehow understanding perfectly what was going on in his partner’s mind. He loved his bear–loved him with a force, a heat he couldn’t explain, and Charl felt the same–he could feel it. Even if there were no answers for either of them–they had each other, there in the dark every night, and that was enough. Just barely, but enough all the same.

Bait and Switch (Part 2)

He was back in the ether again, facing Bruce bare across the strange space, and this time, he had no hesitations about approaching him. He wanted him–badly. However, this time, their cocks didn’t connect. In fact, their cocks passed right through one another, as though they were ghosts. The contact they did make was at the belly–or their belly button to be exact, the two holes coming together in perfect alignment, despite the fact that Bruce was several inches taller than Charles was. The shock passed through him as before, but didn’t throw him back immediately. If anything, he felt even more drawn towards Bruce…and as he watched, his roommate was starting to change. His chubby frame started pulling in, deflating and shrinking a bit, though the muscle grew more defined as it did. His face uncreased, skin looking younger as his hair turned from grey to light brown. But if Bruce was getting younger, than that meant–

Sure enough, Charles looked down and saw that he was changing as well, though in reverse, packing on fat in a generous belly as his muscular frame sagged with age. He did grow taller, feeling his bones lengthen and stretch while Bruce’s contracted, but when the two of them finally were flung back and away, Charles was no longer the young, muscular cub he’d been the day before–he was now a full fledged daddy bear. In the back of his mind, he knew he should be terrified and angry. In this space, he had a clearer memory of the earlier dream as well. Someone–something was doing this to him and Bruce and he had no idea why, and yet, looking down at his new body, he found himself loving it. He loved bears after all, why shouldn’t he want to look like one too? It was already starting to feel more natural, like this is who he was supposed to be, and the grey ether slowly dissolved away around him. Before disappearing however, he caught sight of someone else in the middle distance watching him. It wasn’t Bruce–at least, not the new Bruce, but he knew that there was no way he could reach the man before the dream faded, and even if he’d had time, the ether’s physics would have thwarted him anyway. Instead, he focused hard, trying to commit the image to memory as he fell back into his own sleep, dreams of sex with bears, all bearing the same half-formed shadow visage.

The next morning, while Charles couldn’t find anything immediately wrong with his new, older body, the rest of reality didn’t seem so accommodating. He started the day with a cigar out on the balcony, watching the staff of the bear convention set up for a pool party scheduled for later that afternoon. He found himself wishing he’d known about the other event so he could have signed himself up for that convention too–still, maybe he’d have a chance to sneak in if he was careful. The first troubles of the morning came when he tried to put on his suits–none of them–absolutely none of them fit. They seemed to have been made for someone the size of Bruce–a twink–not for a big bear like himself. Still, he had to wear something nice to the convention, so he squeezed his way into something and headed downstairs, eating a very large breakfast before heading to the convention.

He didn’t stick around for long. Between his discomfort in the suit, his raging cock, and his constant need to break for a cigar back up in his room, he wasn’t all that present anyway. He cut out early to give himself at least an hour for a hearty, greasy lunch. He knew he should eat healthier–in fact, it seemed like just yesterday that he’d been on a strict diet, but he did need to keep this belly fed. He couldn’t have it shriveling up and disappearing on him after all, he liked having one far too much..didn’t he? He spent most of the hour eyeing the various bears eating there as well, and was pleased to see he got as many appreciative glances as he was giving–and again he regretted the fact that he was here for work and not play. Still…what harm was there in taking a break? That pool party was today, why not enjoy himself a bit?

He headed back to his room, wondering what to do. He didn’t even have a swimsuit with him…or did he? He looked at the two sets of luggage on the ground, suddenly unsure of which was his. He’d surely come with a bunch of suits…but then why didn’t any of them fit? Suddenly, the bag of denim, flannel and leather was looking much more comfortable, and digging through Bruce’s (or was it his?) things, he found a pair of XXXL swim trunks, and he was thrilled, stripping out of his itchy, ill-fitting suit and pulling on the trunks, along with a tank showing off his fur, and a pair of sunglasses. He saw on the table a convention badge for the bear convention with Bruce’s name on it…and he grabbed it. He could pretend to be someone else for a bit–what was the harm? From the balcony he saw that the party was already well underway, and with his borrowed badge in hand, no one questioned whether he was supposed to be there, and he lit up another cigar in celebration.

He mingled for a little while, happy to chat, fondle and be fondled for the moment, though he was mostly interested in finding someone to fuck around with in earnest. It was then that the bear caught his eye. He knew him from somewhere, but he didn’t quite know where. He had a sense that he’d been seeing him…everywhere. Was he the guy he’d seen watching him when he stepped on the elevator? Who’d watched him on the balcony last night? The shadow from his dream? His gut told him that it was, but he had no way of knowing for sure. Still, the man certainly seemed interested in him–as soon as Charles had caught his eye, he’d grinned and started over.

“Hey there…Bruce,” the man said, reading the name off the badge with a grin. “Funny, you don’t seem much like a ‘Bruce’ to me.”

“Hell daddy, you can call me anything you want, and I’ll be happy?”

“Oh? Can I call you Carl? I’d like that.”

Confused, Charles just stared at him, not sure what to make of that response.

“Oh never mind,” the bear said, flashing a smile nice enough to make him not worry about it too much. “Still, it’s nice to see you again. You were looking pretty hot last night, though you’re looking hotter right now. Having you down here saves me the trip up to your room.”

“So that was you watching me. You liked what you saw then? You wanna…get a closer look? We…uh, could head up to my room anyway, if you want.”

“Sorry Carl, but we have to wait until after dark–those are the rules.”

Again, Charles was confused. “Why do you keep calling me Carl? And I don’t see why we need to wait, we could just head–”

Charles was stopped by the bear shoving him up against the fence around the pool and giving him a deep, sensual kiss which he happily returned, though the bear broke it off far too soon for Charles’ liking. “There’s a bar close by–most of the bears are heading to an afterparty at a bigger place, but I think we might need something a bit more intimate. Come after sundown–I’ll be waiting.” the bear said, slipping a card into Charles’ hand, “Oh, and one more thing–don’t play with anyone else before then–I want you all to myself, and virgin.”

Charles had many more questions, but the man had left before he could even get his name. He looked around at the bears surrounding him, still horny, but something about what the man had said–or how he’d said it–made the mere thought of sexing any of them up a bit…repulsive. He had to save himself for later after all, just like the bear had told him to…though he wasn’t sure why he was doing what the strange man said. Still, hanging here wasn’t going to be any fun now if he couldn’t play around, so he skulked back to his room, but found that Bruce had returned at some point while he was at the party–and was trying on one of the suits, staring down at it as though it were the strangest thing for him to be wearing in the world, and looking at the young twink, Charles felt a strange possessiveness take over. “Hey! Get out of that, those…those are mine…” The words didn’t feel right. They felt like a lie, but the confusion on both their faces did more to demonstrate the possessive grey area than anything else. In fact, Charles felt like it wasn’t the suits he was being possessive over, but his roommate’s body…but that made even less sense.

“Look…I was…I was just trying one on. Nothing else in here fits me, so I mean–if they fit me this good, why wouldn’t…why wouldn’t they be mine?” Bruce said, hesitantly, and Charles couldn’t deny the fact that he was probably right.

“You’re…you’re right, I think. I’m just…I haven’t been sleeping well, and everything has just been so weird these last couple days.”

“No kidding,” Bruce said, I’ve been having these crazy dreams, and you’re in them of all people.”

Charles just stared at him for a second. “Dreams…do they…are you in this weird grey place, and we’re both naked?”

“Yeah, and then we always come closer, and touch somehow, and things…change…don’t tell me–”

“I’ve been having them too.”

“That’s nuts.”

They were silent for a few moments, trying to figure out what was going on. It had to mean something, but what?

“Hey…have you–have you noticed a guy following you at all?” Charles finally asked, “There’s this guy, this bear, he’s been watching me, or I think, us. I just ran into him at the pool, and it was so weird. He’s tall, older, full beard with a shaved head?”

“You mean like half of you bears here? Sorry, I don’t swing that way, so I don’t notice you when I don’t have to.”

“You don’t have to be mean.”

“I’m sorry, It’s just some men have no business strutting around half naked in the light of day.” Charles rolled his eyes, and yet…something about the sentiment seemed familiar. Like it was something he’d have said, or had said before. Regardless, Bruce could sense that he’d crossed a line, and he stepped closer. “Look, it’s not really any of my business, who you like. I’m sorry. And…now that I think about it, I might have had a run in with someone like you describe. It was pretty weird too.”

“When was it?”

“Two nights ago, the night the first dream happened. I went out for a drink with some…some friends, and this guy came up and started chatting with me at the bar. He wanted to know where I was staying, and he seemed really curious about…well, about you. It was strange.”

The two of them pondered that for a moment, feeling more unnerved by the minute. “Look,” Charles finally said, “I think something really strange is going on. The guy wants to meet me at this bar near here after dark…and maybe we should both go, and try to get some answers from him. I think he knows something about whatever’s been happening here, and we should try to see what he knows.”

Bruce was obviously nervous, but he agreed. Tonight they would have a date with the mysterious bear, and get to the bottom of whatever was going on here once and for all.

Bait and Switch (Part 1)

Commissioned by Jiben2

“What do you mean you’re overbooked? I made this reservation ages ago!” Charles shouted.

“I’m very sorry sir, I don’t know how it happened,” the young woman behind the hotel desk said, “the hotel has two conventions going this weekend, and unfortunately we had too many reservations. We’ve been forced to give out rooms on a first come, first serve basis.”

“You mean to tell me these fuckers get rooms, but I don’t? Every hotel in the area is going to be booked by now! What am I supposed to do?”

“I…Look, let me get my manager, and we’ll try to work something out. One moment please.”

Charles fumed as the woman left, tapping his dress shoe in frustration and looking around the lobby at all the fat hairy men cloistered in groups. A bear convention–how disgusting. Charles might be gay, but he had standards. None of these men had any right to be this naked in public as far as he was concerned. What were the chances that they would book on the same weekend as the most important convention for him this year? He checked his tailored suit in the mirror, moving his gelled hair back into place and trying to calm down. He’d figure something out, he always did. He was tough–a survivor–a climber. It had difficult enough being a gay man in a straight man’s company, but he’d crawled this high. If this convention went well, he might even be looking at another promotion.

The woman returned a couple minutes later, trailing a middle aged manager who looked far too exhausted to deal with this. They rehashed the same discussion–Charles demanding a room, the staff saying there was nothing they could do without receiving a cancellation. He scoffed when they offered to give him makeshift quarters in the basement with the storage, but when he realized they were serious, he nearly exploded. It was soon after that when the man on the couch interrupted.

Charles had noticed him earlier for a moment, long enough to be disgusted by the fact that he had his boots up on the couch cushions like a common laborer–which he might well have been, given how he was dressed. “You know, he could stay in my room. The friend who was going to stay with me cancelled, so I have an extra bed.”

Charles was stunned at the mere suggestion of sleeping in the same quarters as a nasty man like that, so stunned that before he could get a word in to object, the manager, eager to resolve the situation, had agreed and was busy putting it into the system, and handed Charles a room key which he took begrudgingly. It was better than sleeping in a storage closet he told himself. Maybe not better by much–but he could handle anything for a couple of days–he hoped.

“Well, I guess we’re roomies then,” the man said, extending his hairy hand to the shorter, thinner businessman, “My names Bruce.”

“I’m, uh…Charles. Nice to meet you and thanks…I guess…”

“So, shall we head up to the room? I haven’t dropped my stuff off yet–I was just sayin’ hi to some old fuck—uh, old friends.”

“Right,” Charles said, “You know, I’m gay–you don’t have to pretend I don’t know what’s going on, but don’t think I’m at all interested.”

They walked into the elevator, and as the door closed, Charles thought he saw someone, one of the bears, looking at them, but he couldn’t be sure. Regardless, the stare he did catch was a bit…creepy. The ride was silent, though it was obvious Bruce didn’t want it to be this awkward. They divided up the hotel room, and then the bear pulled out a cigar and lit it up right in front of Charles. “Hey! You can’t smoke in here.”

“What do you mean? It’s the smoking floor–I can smoke here if I want to,” Bruce replied.

“Well, at least smoke it out on the balcony–those things are disgusting.”

“You know, you sure could lighten up a bit. I’m the one doing you a favor here, remember…” Bruce grumbled, but headed out onto the balcony to smoke, leaving Charles to set up his laptop and review some work for the convention tomorrow. When Bruce finished he came back in, stinking of smoke, and pulled on his coat. “I’m goin’ out. Don’t wait up, I’ll probably be late tonight.”

“Sure, whatever,” Charles replied, not caring in the least, though as it ended up, late was a bit of an understatement. Charles turned in around ten, sleeping nicely for a few hours until Bruce burst his way into the room loudly, stinking of alcohol and smoke, mumbling about some great guy he’d met in the bar, before collapsing down on his bed where he started snoring loudly. Charles knew he wasn’t going to be sleeping much for the rest of the night, though he did eventually, and when he did, it was fitful–and he dreamed a strange vision.

He was in some undefined space, some grey netherworld, and Bruce was there too, standing in front of him. The two of them started out clothed, but as they approached, the clothes suddenly vanished, and Charles saw Bruce’s cock pointing at him. He tried to stop, but some strange force pulled them closer and closer, their cocks erect, and the tips came together, a powerful magnetism holding them in place. At the same time, their faces came closer and closer, Charles smelling stench of smoke as their lips met, locking similarly, and a powerful shock coursed through him, and the force released them.

He could already feel the dream fading, but he looked down at himself, seeing something was wrong. He was…hairy, hairy like Bruce had been, and his cock wasn’t cut anymore, now hooded with a heavy foreskin, and a couple inches shorter than before. A hand went to his face and head, feeling hair around his mouth, his other hair shorn short, but then the vision was gone, and he slept deep for the rest of the night.

The next day though, was hell as far as Charles was concerned. Nothing seemed to be going right at his convention at all. He woke up late that morning with a raging headache–had he not been so certain that he’d spent the night alone in the room, he’d have thought he’d had one of the worst hangovers of his life. On top of that, his tongue and throat felt strange, and it was a bit difficult to breathe for some reason. He thought he might just be getting sick, but as the day went on, he found it only got worse–not better.

That was only the greatest of the inconveniences at hand though. He couldn’t feel the least bit comfortable in his suit–his hairy body was just so itchy! He’d imagined that he would have gotten used to having this much body hair by now, but for some reason it bugged the hell out of his all day. There was always this little voice, this little question in the back of his mind though, asking whether he should have that much body hair, but that was silly. Of course he was hairy–that’s how he’d always been, right? Though every time he saw his beard in the mirror, he couldn’t help but ask the same question. Something about it just didn’t seem…right.

And finally, he was horny. Not just any horny–really horny. Horny as fuck. And his cock was not pointing him in the right direction. Charles had been plenty gay before, but instead of the clean cut, handsome business types who’d attracted his eye before, now he was drawn to a different sort of man–the burly, hairy older suited gentlemen who were also in abundance at the convention, many with beards of their own which had Charles swooning a bit. Hell, walking through the lobby and seeing all of the bears there was almost too much for him to handle. He’d lost track of how many times he’d had to take a bathroom break just to relieve some tension. All of this seemed so unnatural, but if this wasn’t how he was supposed to act…then what was he supposed to do? Frustrated and confused, the convention and his work couldn’t have gotten finished fast enough, and after a bite to eat, he headed back to the room, eager for an early bedtime.

Back in the room though, sleep was impossible. The headache was simply too great now for him to ignore, and the hours passed fitfully. Charles eventually started pacing the room, hoping to just exhaust himself, when he caught a whiff of a…scent. Something he needed, and needed badly, something coming from Bruce’s side of the room. Not even caring about it being wrong, he started rummaging through the bear’s things, not even knowing what he was looking for, when he found the cello-wrapped cigars. “Yes!” his head screamed–he could barely get the wrapper off with his shaking hands, before cutting the cap (how did he even know to do that?) fumbling for a lighter and drawing in the smoke.

Relief! How he’d never thought he’d find it. How could he have forgotten that he was such a heavy smoker? How…had he even smoked anything before?

The question nagged at him, but not so much that he considered stopping now. Still, when had he smoked last? He honestly couldn’t remember, and this piled on with the rest of the insecurities from the day. His body hair, his beard, his uncut cock, his sudden bearish preferences. Something…something had changed, but what? What was going on? He walked into the bathroom, staring at his reflection, trying to piece it together. The dream from the night before had faded, but left a vague impression. Something…something had happened, something with Bruce…right? But what?

One thing he couldn’t deny was that the cigar smoke was turning him on big time, as much as staring at all the hot, chubby bears had earlier. He started stroking the short, thick shaft, still finding it uncomfortable in his hand, the sensation of his foreskin both familiar and alien at the same time. He was about to finish into the toilet when he heard the sound of the key in the door, and the cough of Bruce coming in.

“Fuck man, didn’t I tell you to smoke those on the balcony?” he said.

“Sorry, sorry,” Charles said, coming out of the bathroom after pulling on some underwear, “I forgot…” His voice trailed off when he say his roommate for the first time that day–his hot, sexy bear of a roommate–fuck! He hadn’t been that attractive before, had he? It was a shame the guy was so smooth and didn’t have a beard, but Charles was willing to fuck almost anything at the moment. “Look…how–how about I make it up to you? You want a blowjob?” he heard himself say faster than he could be embarrassed for himself.

“What, and have my cock stink like smoke for a week?” Bruce said, “Look, I like chasers, but smoking’s a no go. I’ll be back when the fucking air’s cleared. Sorry for interrupting.” He turned and left, Charles pissed that the bear was such a wimp. What was the harm in a little smoke? Grumbling a bit, he headed out onto the balcony to finish, and saw that across the courtyard he had a great view of two orgies which offered plenty to look at. He jacked off twice more, still smoking, though halfway through his second round, he looked over and saw that someone was watching him. He couldn’t make the man out very well, but the attention wasn’t unwelcome. He gave the man a bit of a show, but his cigar was burnt out, and exhaustion proper was setting in. Still, he was happy someone was interested, as he crawled into bed and fell asleep almost immediately, only to dream once more.

I loved your story with rubber. (SEPTEMBER 08, 2012). I’d like to read more about. was very good.

Thanks. I don’t delve into inanimate TF’s very often, but something about living rubber has always piqued my interests. To be honest, I don’t know where the story would go after that. Most of my vignettes are intended as one offs–they don’t go any further in my head than what I write. Of course, that doesn’t mean similar themes won’t pop up elsewhere, or that it might not pop up elsewhere–we’ll just have to see.

have you ever thought about making history with sumo wrestlers?

Making history with sumo wrestlers? Well, no, actually. I don’t really find sumo that attractive to be honest–I don’t know why, probably mostly because I don’t really know much about it, and just having a character become a sumo wrestler would feel arbitrary. I like my TFs to serve plot and character development, not the other way around. Don’t consider it off the table–but it isn’t a priority.

Are you going to do any more of the Metawriting articles? I really love it when people talk about the mechanics and the thinking behind TF stories.

Yes, given I already published another one–I just couldn’t tell if anyone was at all interested in them, so I wasn’t prioritizing them. Still they’re as helpful to me as to others who might want to write, because they help clarify my own thoughts on the subject, so you can probably expect a few more to pop up here and there.

im loving the story the boys :) u should totally add pics to go along with it would definatly bone me up real good

Eh, pics are overrated. I don’t really feel the need to go add pictures to my old stories–I’d rather have the pictures inspire the story to be honest. Then they’re less illustrations and a more integrated part of the tale itself. Plus, I don’t think I have any pics extreme enough for that story, which doesn’t help 😛

I would love a story about somebody normal, plain guy, who wanted to be manlier, bigger, hairier, stronger, fatter.. you get the point. He wants to be a top and he gets addicted to fucking guys in the ass, and starts getting rougher with them, until he begins to rape guys who get, themselves, hooked to the progressively bigger fatter and stronger guy. He pays a price: being THE man is being dominant and stupid, a sex addict only thinking how to fuck any guy he likes.

Doesn’t sound like a price he minds paying very much. I’ll certianly keep it in mind.