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Let’s say you found a pig to influence in real life. The pig reluctantly accepted all the changes under your guidance, some more than others but let the corruption take hold. Eventually, your side project had a run in with reality. Seconds thoughts clashing with desires, remorse kicking in, pleading ensues to let it revert back to its previous life, a second chance. What would be your reaction? Would you feel any remorse, and help it go back? Feed on it and drive it deeper? Nothing?

I would never push someone beyond a point further than they were willing to go themselves. I’m just guiding here, showing the path, helping a long–like a trainer. If someone decided they wanted to stop, all it would take is a simple no, and we’d be done. They’re in control here–that’s the thing. They’re doing this to themselves, I’m not forcing them to do anything. My vision, sure, but their consent.

You write a lot about weight gain, but have you ever tried gaining yourself? And do you enjoy the ‘pig’ trope more for fat or for piss?

I would not consider myself a gainer, no. That said, I wouldn’t necessarily mind being a bit heftier than I am now, but chances are that will happen naturally over time, and I’m honestly more interested, personally, in being older than anything else.

As far as pigs go–I would never be able to choose between piss pigs and chub pigs, but if I had to Sophie’s Choice it, I’d probably have to go with chub pigs.

Is there any resource to research dumb people way of talking without knowing a real life dumb people ? When I do a dumbing down scene, I feel like I am just copying others TF dialogue, never met someone that has a “dumb accent”. How do you like to show dumbness in your characters ?

There’s no specific way that dumb people talk, really. Short words and simple sentences are the best way to go, if you want a neutral “dumb” sort of speech. If you want to go dumber, I suppose–or if you’re trying to highlight how far a smarter person has fallen, having them misuse large words they may have known before, or have them get lost in longer sentences can be a good way to do it. More than that? Start fucking with their grammar. subject verb agreement, shifting tense, wrong verb forms–those sorts of things, when used sparingly, can help as well.

What do you think of body swaps. I feel like we need more honesty.

I think body swaps are, generally, boring and overdone.

That said, there are ways they can be done well, and I’m a big fan of partial swaps (like exchanging body parts and attributes with others) and also a big fan of reality/life swaps (that is, same basic body and mind, but forced into a new life/history which one slowly is forced to adapt to). But body swaps themselves….

It’s hard to explain, exactly. They just lack narrative punch for me, and the net result, in the end, is functionally equivalent to what you started with. They are…experientally creative (as in, they generate unique experiences for the characters) but materially conservative (once the swap is finished, literally nothing in the world has ceased to exist, or come into being). That is, there’s no real change. 

But I like change. I like forcing characters to change. I like making the settings of these stories shift and twist. Body swaps don’t do that. Body swaps are fundamentally conservative transformations (not politically mind you, but I think a case could be made for that too) and thus not really something I tend to use often.

The themes in your stories explore the shadow side of humanity, some really dark and twisted horizons. Do you think that if more people explored that, or just seriously meditated on that darkness, then we might have a better world, with fewer people doing nasty things to each other instead of, say, consensually? You know what I mean?

Nah, I don’t think that. I think the real darkness in my stories is that these things do happen in real life. Not literally, of course, but these shadow forces are very real, and they crush and warp people all the time. We all see it happen, I think, but we don’t want to acknowledge it, in part because we would then have to answer for our own complicity, and because we would have to come to grips with the sheer, massive amount of structural change that would be required to change it. We would have to come to grips with the fact that as horrified as we are by these happenings, that many of us secretly enjoy them, or at least feel a vague sense of comfort in them all the same.

This isn’t a shadow of humanity, this just is what we do to each other. I just go through the world with a highlighter, and show the ways we destroy one another day in and day out.

Stinkers: Finders Keepers (Part 3)

But I did leave. I had to keep going to work, after all. I was…afraid to not go, I was more afraid of being alone, in some ways. Thursday and Friday passed relatively well. The women at work still refused to engage with me…and honestly? Part of me was really enjoying that. I had just never really noticed how much time talking to all of them took up during my day, nor had I realized just how few fucks I gave about their lives, their problems. Their lazy husbands, their shopping, their gossip–what did it matter? I mean…I mean, I knew it had mattered to me more, before, but I just wasn’t missing it. Now, I had more time to myself, more time to, well, slip off to the bathroom to jack off. But still, most of the guys around the office…I noticed that they seemed a bit more…interested in me somehow. Stopping to talk, asking how I was, just…small shit. I didn’t really appreciate it, to be honest. They all seemed…kind of annoying–that much hadn’t changed. But they all seemed really interested in me, and more than once, I noticed hardons in their slacks after a five minute conversation with me, and I…I started to wonder if it was me.

Was it really all the smell that was doing this? It seemed hard to believe that just wearing some strange pair of filthy underwear could change how everyone viewed me, instantly, but what other explanation did I have? The weekend was bearing down on me, honestly…I was scared, going home on Friday. I had two days with no obligation to be anywhere other than my apartment, and before, when I just hung around here…well, I had spent almost all the time masturbating. I knew I should go out, see some friends, maybe hook up…but with who? None of my regular fuckbuddies would be vaguely interested in…in this. If I went to the club, and anyone smelled me, what would everyone think? Then again, if I didn’t show up, what would people think? I was, I hate to say it, a regular barfly. But Friday night, I stayed home, jacked off into the underwear, and as I did…I noticed something.

I noticed…that my dick was bigger.

Gay guys–we know our dicks. I’d always been a bit below average, I suppose–five inches hard. But when I was stroking off that night, everything felt just a bit…larger. My cock, my balls, my sack hanging lower. I went into the bathroom after shooting one of the loads, pulled down the front and got a ruler. Sure enough–six inches. I’d gained an entire inch onto my cock. I remeasured two or three more times, trying to figure out what I’d been doing wrong, but the more I looked at it, the more I was certain–it really had grown. My balls too, each was probably the size of a lemon at this point, and I could see the bulge in the underwear when I pulled them back up–and that didn’t even begin to cover the hair.

I was…well, in my younger years I was a twink, but at this point I’ve aged out of that category long ago. Still, I never quite became a bear–the best I could describe myself now would be a bad case of dadbod. Pot belly, saggy chest, decent shoulders, arms which I’ve always felt were way too skinny, legs too. Not…attractive, really, but I’d always made do with personality, even when I had the looks. That–and a very nice hole. I turned around to look at my ass, pulled down the briefs, and even my ass crack was hairier–just like the thick bush which had sprouted around my cock and balls, a bush I’d never seen in my life. And yet…fuck, was I turned on, I nutted again right there, then a second load while I sniffed the sweat and grunge off my hand.

On Saturday, it was seven inches, and I was freaking out. I knew I couldn’t go to the club or anything, but I also knew I couldn’t stay here, jacking off all weekend…because I was starting to really enjoy it. I’d…I’d never had this much fun masturbating in my life. My orgasms were more powerful, my cock was more sensitive, and the stench…fuck, my apartment was smelling almost as rank as the underwear at this point, and the effect on me had gone from disgust to intoxicating without me being aware of it. I came out of my stupor on Saturday afternoon after one particularly huge load, one I discovered I’d been edging out for close to two hours. Two hours! Two hours of my life wasted on masturbation. I didn’t know what I needed–fresh air, a walk, a fuck, someone to talk to, but I knew I couldn’t stay here, I needed to get out for a bit and clear my head.

I threw on some clothes and left the apartment, only realizing after I hit the sidewalk I hadn’t showered in two days now, or even considered deodorant once since finding the the briefs back behind the club. I…I stank. It was a tossup whether the people twisting their faces in disgust were doing so because of the briefs, or just because of me. Still, I couldn’t go back. I wouldn’t shower, I’d just…jack off again, and I needed to stop. I headed for the club, waved at some guys, but didn’t dare go in, didn’t dare even go close. I just kept walking. Evening turned to night, I kept walking. I kept walking, and then, around ten o’clock, soaked in sweat, cock achingly hard, searching for something but not knowing what…I smelled something. I smelled something I needed, and I started to hunt.

Thoughts on gaining from just being fucked and filled with cum. Just so many loads you’re literally growing from all the spunk. Knowing your growing belly is nothing more than the result of another man’s semen?

Hot, certainly, but I feel like that tends more towards bloating/inflation as a kink rather than gaining–or at least that’s how my head sorts it apart. That said, I am definitely a fan of guys being cursed to, say, gain weight every  time they eat cum or get fucked–that’s fun, and a trope I’ve used a few times.