A Hair Appointment

Flash commissions like this one are still open! Message me for details.

This was the place. Drew checked the address on his phone again, just to be sure, and then stepped up to the door and knocked on it, a bit timidly. It had been such a grueling process, getting here, and it was finally happening–he was here. The door opened after a moment, and…well, Drew was a bit surprised, if not a bit disappointed. From what he had heard about this guy, and what he could do, he was expecting someone a bit more, well, older maybe. The man in the door was young, probably in his early twenties, shirtless, wearing a pair of gym shorts–though he was…very hairy. His whole chest was coated in hair, which ran up his neck and nearly joined the thick, neatly trimmed beard around his face. From the hair on his shoulders, he was probably just a thickly furred on his back. “You must be Drew, right? I’m Tyler. You ready?”

Drew nodded, and stepped into the house, Tyler shutting the door behind them. There was a mirror across from the door in the entryway, and Drew hoped it would be the last time he would have to look at himself like this–his young, pudgy face, unable to grow a beard, not that he hadn’t tried for most of his life. With his blonde hair, it just looked like fuzz, and never grew into much of anything. The rest of his body was mostly smooth as well–and he hated it. He wanted what this man, Tyler, could give him, more than anything.

“Come on then, the other one is here, and waiting,” Tyler said, and climbed the stairs to the upper floor.

“The other one?” Drew asked. Tyler didn’t respond, and Drew followed him up the stairs, a bit confused.

Tyler led him into a bedroom, and there, sure enough, was…another man. Close to Drew’s age, probably, in his early thirties, wearing a business suit, and sporting a thin goatee around his mouth. He looked…nervous, about as nervous as Drew felt, and when they came in together, he looked…annoyed. “Well, shall we get started?” Tyler asked, and dropped his shorts. The hair was just as thick on his thighs and around his cock–it was big, easily seven inches long, and thick as a beer can.

“Hold on,” the man in the suit said, “Why are there two of us here? I didn’t agree to this.”

Tyler smiled, “Because I wanted you both here, of course. Why else?”

“I…No, no, this was a mistake, I need to–” the business fellow said, but Tyler stopped him.

“Now Mark, why don’t you just calm down a bit,” he said, and pushed him down to his knees, facing Tyler’s massive cock, “I’m afraid you can’t leave–either of you–until we’re finished here. But you don’t really want to leave, do you?” he asked, as he rubbed the head of his cock against Mark’s upper lip. Drew watched, astonished, as the hair there began to thicken into a thick, full mustache, hanging long over his lip, mismatched now with the thin goatee underneath. Mark felt it, moaned, and rubbed the rest of his face against Tyler’s cock, who allowed him to do it, hair growing everywhere it touched, a thick, five o’clock shadow growing all over his cheeks and face. Drew–he didn’t want to get left out, and so he got down there too, shoving his face in with Mark’s, fighting to get his face against Tyler’s cock, feeling his own cheeks tingle as the first hairs began to push out. After a couple of minutes, he looked over at a mirror, and saw that he already had a short beard all over his face–but it wasn’t the same blonde as his hair. It had darkened somewhat, and was almost red.

Obviously annoyed at having to share in the bounty, Mark pushed Drew away while he was distracted, and swallowed Tyler’s cock into his mouth. Drew tumbled backwards onto his ass, and while he was going to push his way back in–his jaw dropped at the sight of what was happening to Mark’s frame. He was…growing. His thin body was bulking up with muscle, and his neatly tailored suit wasn’t built for that kind of expansion. After half a minute, they all heard the first seam rip, and Mark just started sucking faster, feeling the hair growing all over his body now, even as his beard grew in even thicker, though the hair on his head was beginning to recede.

“You’d better get in here, if you want any of this,” Tyler said to Drew, snapping him out of his daze, “I wanted you here because…well, let’s just say I think the two of you will be a good pair, but you’re going to have to fight for it.”

So Drew did–he shoved the growing Mark out of the way, and swallowed the cock himself–and as soon as he did, he tasted the precum flowing down his throat, and his entire body started to heat up, as his fat began to melt away, and was replaced by muscle–lots of muscle, in fact, even more than Mark. He was growing taller too, he had to crouch slightly to keep sucking, before Mark shoved him away and got his mouth back around the cock. They kept fighting over him for a few minutes, each of them growing rather evenly, and they became more and more aggressive as they grew, tearing the clothes off themselves, and off each other, until they were both naked. The larger they got, the more they manhandled Tyler as well, Drew lifitng him up and throwing him onto the bed, swallowing his cock deep, until–iIn a sudden rage–Mark dragged Drew off him and threw him to the floor, determined to overwhelm him. The cock was his, the gift was his! That’s why he was here, so he could receive it, and him alone. What he hadn’t counted on, however, was that Drew had been growing slightly faster than him, and while he was caught off guard for a moment, he wrestled Mark off him, and in a couple of minutes had him pinned, face down and ass up, to the ground.

He felt…good doing that. He’d never been able to overpower anyone in his life, and it felt….so right, so right that he should be on top, that he should be in charge–so he took his much larger, much hairier cock and shoved it into Mark’s struggling ass, and as soon as he did, the hulk underneath him relaxed, moaned, and started humping back, eager to get more of Drew’s cock inside him.

“Here you go, buddy, drink up,” Tyler said, stepping beside him and pushing his cock to Drew’s lips. “You’ve earned it.”

Drew drank, and as he did now, he could feel other things changing, beyond just his body. His old life as a chubby loser was disappearing, and replaced by a new one–a life spent at the gym, constantly working out, constantly getting stronger, and larger–and helping other men do the same. He’d worked as a coach for years now, training young men to be strong like he was, and all the men he worked with…well, he had a bit of an effect on them, he liked to think. Now, though, he was in his sixties, but still going strong. His beard continued to grow throughout this, lengthening and darkening further, until it was a deep red brown–though the color didn’t stay. As he grew older, it became streaked with dark grey as well. His hair pulled back unitl it was cut into a flattop–and then came the final gush of cum from Tyler’s cock, and as Drew drank it down, feeling the man’s magic flow into him–it also flowed through him, and he came into Mark’s eager ass.

Looking down, he could feel him change as well–change into the man he wanted him to be. He’d been training his husband all his life–and it showed. Mark was just as large as Drew was, if not a bit larger. Through the hair, he could see a deep farmer’s tan forming all over him, from his years working out in the sun as a construction foreman. There, he was the big boss, ordering everyone else around, but once he got home, he knew that Drew was really in charge, and he did everything his husband said–happily, of course. After all, Drew wasn’t one to abuse his power over anyone–that’s why he’d earned it, after all.

Tyler only had a moment too look over his new creations, before they both turned on him, just as horny as ever, threw him on the bed–Mark taking his face and Drew his ass–and the two couple of muscle bears paid Tyler back for his gift, pounding at both ends until they both came again, all three of them collapsing into a sweaty, musky heap afterwards, rubbing each other’s thickly furred bodies, their pasts now…so far behind them they couldn’t even really recall ever being different. Then Tyler sent them on their way, and in hand, and looked over his list of applicants. Who next? He had appointments to fill, after all.

Pugsley’s Bachelor Party

Commissioned for @pugsleypig – Hope the big day goes well!

When Pugsley told me that he wanted a bachelor party–I knew what he really wanted. After all, he wouldn’t have asked me if he hadn’t had something in mind. I told him I’d organize the perfect party for a pig like him–that he just needed to show up at my apartment on Saturday, at two pm sharp. He arrived a bit early, he’s conscientious like that.

He was wearing his usual clothes: camo tank, shorts, boots and hat–I told him to strip out of those, he wouldn’t be needing them. Then I gave him his uniform for the party–a black leather waistcoat, crotchless and assless rubber shorts, a black bowtie, white cuffs on his wrists, knee high socks and black dress shoes. He was, I told him, going to be the waiter and service at his own bachelor party–thankfully, I had the good instinct to lock up his cock before telling him this, so I could watch his cock strain in it’s tight cage. Then I sent him into the kitchen to start cooking–guests would be arriving at seven, and he needed the appetizers ready to serve on the dot.

He worked hard–he always does. I watched him a bit, and then went to prepare another room for the poker game I had planned with a few acquaintances of mine–Pugsley might have thought it would be his friends coming by later, but I had something a bit better in mind. Seven rolled around, and as the men arrived, I made Pugsley answer the door and greet them all, and when he saw them, I could see him struggling with disgust and arousal at the same time. They weren’t, after all, his type. All four were older, in their forties to sixties, hairy, chubby, several of them smelling of smoke–not the fit, military men he usually fantasized about serving. He served well all the same though. After I got everyone seated at the table for the game, he brought out appetizers, and the men started berating him, groping him, ordering him around, and I saw he was properly enjoying himself.

For the first few hours, while we played the game, he focused on keeping everyone’s beers full and cigars lit, their feet massaged under the table, their plates supplied with food. Once everyone was a bit drunk and enjoying themselves, I moved onto the next part of the party–paused the game, and told Pugsley that it was time for his bachelor gifts. I went over to a bookcase and took down a small jewelry box, opened it, and handed the small stone inside to the first man in the group, one of the younger and fitter fellows by the name of John. Pugsley had noticed, when he’d entered, he’d smelled more strongly of smoke and booze than the others, and he was quite a bit more drunk already.

“Alright, Pugsley–my four friends are going to give you some very special gifts now, and you’re going to be a good pig and accept they all gladly, right?”

He nodded, but he still didn’t quite understand what I was talking about. John cleared his smoky throat, and said, “Alright pig–I’m gonna be giving you my two pack a day cigarette habit, and my alcoholism. I usually drink a six pack every night–so you’d better get used to it.”

The stone in the man’s hand glowed, and a ray shot out at Pugsley, striking him in the chest, and he felt new needs rise up in his chest. He’d been ambivalent about the smoking before–but he had a new need in his eyes–taking a bit of pity on him, I tapped the ash off mine into his mouth, making him thank me for it, and then took a longish butt from the table and worked it into his ass–he’d be feeling better soon, as the nicotine seeped into his system.

John passed the stone to the next man, Craig, who was by far the most heavyset of the men in the group, with a large apron of hat hanging down between his thighs. “Alright pig, I’m going to give you 300 pounds of fat, but in exchange, you’re going to give me a six inches off your height.”

Pugsley looked at me, wondering if that was allowed, but the stone glowed, another ray shot him, and in a matter of moments, the rubber shorts hand split apart on him, the buttons on the waistcoat popping off, the bowtie cutting into his flabby neck. He clawed at it until he got it undone, and heaved for breath, looking down at his five and a half foot frame, now packed with over 500 pounds of fat, hanging off him in massive rolls. A much slimmer, and taller, Craig passed the stone on to the next fellow, Rex. “Well, I’ve always had real bad B.O., you see, and a problem with belchin’ and fartin’–so why don’t you take those pig? I think they’ll suit you.”

The stone glowed again, shot out and struck Puglsey, and he belched immediately, his flabby frame shaking, making all the men laugh. He could feel the sweat rolling off him now, in all the cracks of his body–he reeked, but there was nothing he could do about it. Lastly, Peter took the stone, who was the oldest fellow, with a thick white beard. “Alright Puglsey–I’m going to give you…say, thirty years of my life, and also this impotence I’ve been struggling with a lot lately. A pig like you doesn’t need to use your dick though, right?”

I think he wanted to cry, as the years piled on his new body, his fat sagging further, hair receding and turning white, and we all heard to clink of the metal cock cage falling to the floor–his already meager cock had shrunk back so far into his flab, that it had simply fallen off. We all laughed, and turned back to the game, Pugsley trying to recover and keep serving, but he kept choking back tears. I heard him whispering, “It’s just…for tonight, just for a bit.” He’d seen me take the stone and put it back in the box–he probably thought he would get to give back his gifts–instead, I ushered all the men out into the night, making the new Pugsley thank all of them for their nice gifts for his wedding the next day–and then we were alone, and he finally let it out, sobbing in fear.

“I can’t–I can’t show up like this, I can’t–you…you can fix this, right?”

I shook my head, “I thought you wanted to serve, pig? This is service–you should be thanking me for giving you this opportunity. Besides–you’re still in there, the real you. If he loves you, he should be able to love this you as well, right?”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

“You’re going to stand at that alter tomorrow–in that ill-fitting tux, and in front of all of your friends and family, you’re going to have to ask him to love you. To prove that he’ll love you, no matter what. If he means it? Then he will. And if not…well, you can always come back here, and serve me instead. I’ll always have room for a dirty, fat, worthless pig around here, you know.”

He sucked me off, and I sent him on his way in the same short, tank and boots he’d arrived in–though he could barely fit any of the ensemble now. I knew he’d go through with it, because he knew I was right–if he loved him, truly loved him, he’d love him no matter how he looked. Besides–in 24 hours, after the ceremony, I’d fix him right up, good as he was before–and send those gifts into the void for good. But he’d know if he’d found a man–a man who could truly love a pig like him, no matter what.

Beta Test: Game Night tomorrow, August 3rd! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Just want to send this out here as well–I’m going to be running some tests with a new discord server I’m planning on running for Patrons starting in September–I’m hoping to do a test RP session for Patrons tomorrow evening. If you’re supporting me on Patreon and would like to help out, you can find more details at the link.

Beta Test: Game Night tomorrow, August 3rd! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

The Body You Deserve (Sketch) [Commission]

Flash Commissions are ongoing! Here’s another one, which was commissioned by Crazy Diamond. You can find more details here.

“Need another drink, boy?”

Erik looked up from where he was having a conversation with a couple of friends at the man who was looming over their table. Erik did nothing to hide his obvious disdain that a guy like this–chubby, hairy, old, and reeking of cigar smoke–would have the absolute nerve to think Erik–young, slender, hairless, and perfect in every way–would so much as talk to him, much less take a drink from him. “No thanks. I don’t usually waste my time on old slobs like you,” he said, and his friends all tittered.

The bear just rolled his eyes–it was hardly the first time he’d been shot down in his life, and moved on. The twinks gossiped for a bit about him, unable to believe someone like that would ever think one of them could be in their league, and then moved onto other topics. Just as they were about to go back to the dance floor, someone tapped Erik on the shoulder roughly.

Erik looked back, half expecting the bear to have come back to try again, but it wasn’t him. It was an older fellow, muscular, and he had a glass in his hand–the same glass the bear had had a second ago. “That was rather rude of you, I think. Now, that nice man offered you a drink, and you should be gracious and accept it.”

Erik was about to tell this guy, whoever he was, to fuck right off as well, but instead, his hand reached out, took the glass from him, and Erik chugged it, while the stranger and his friends all watched in slight astonishment. Erik could hardly believe it himself–he wasn’t exactly one to tolerate being told what to do, ever, but he couldn’t stop drinking it until the glass was empty. It tasted…odd. There was definitely alcohol in it, but it wasn’t quite like any drink he’d had at this bar before. He put the empty glass down, and the man nodded, “Good–I’ll see you later,” he said, and then slipped off into the crowd.

No one said anything. Erik was red in the face–he hated being humiliated like that. He got up to tell the man off, but when he did, his guts knotted up and cramped, and he ran off towards the bathroom instead, where he doubled over in pain. The spasms in his stomach were spreading now; it felt like his whole body was on fire, being stretched out and deformed somehow. After a few minutes clutching a sink and moaning, the pain began to subside, and he could stand again–but he froze when he saw the face looking back at him in the mirror.

It wasn’t his face. He blinked, and the face blinked as well. It was the face of…that bear, the one who had offered him a drink. He looked at the chubby cheeks covered with a thick, greying beard, the heavily receding hairline, and then down at his body. The clothes he had on were filled to bursting with his thick gut and hefty chest, the waistband of his once skinny jeans groaning before the button burst, his gut sagging out another couple of inches. He could smell himself too–not just the aura of cigar around him, but also his sweat and body odor wafting around him. He had never been more disgusted in his entire life.

That drink–it had to have something to do with that stranger. He had to find him, and figure out how to get his body back! He rushed out of the bathroom, staggering out of his much too small shoes in the process, his shirt beginning to rip apart as he moved. There was no sign of the man in the bar, so he headed for the patio out back, where the crowd was thinner, and sure enough, there he was–standing by the wall with his body–his real body, in the bear’s now much too baggy clothes.

“You!” Erik said, his deeper voice booming across the space, “What the fuck did you do to me!”

“There he is, Roy, I told you he’d find us–come on over here–I think you have an apology to make to Roy here, don’t you?” the stranger said.

“You piece of shit, give me my body back right fucking now,” Erik said storming across the patio, his shirt finally giving up and tearing apart, leaving his hairy gut hanging out over his much, much too tight jeans. He looked from the older stranger over to his own body–and saw that whoever was in it now (the fat bear, he presumed, who the stranger had called Roy) was enjoying the hell out of it, and had a thick cigar clamped in his jaw. One part of him was disgusted, but another part of him…craved it. He licked his lips, eyes locked to the cigar in front of him, his cock getting a bit hard at the sight of his one time body smoking.

He realized, after a bit, he’d just been standing there, staring, for several moments, but he didn’t quite know what to say anymore. He looked from his old body to the stranger, who had an expectant look on his face. “Well?” the stranger said to him, “What are you waiting for? Apologize. You were quite rude back there, don’t you think?”

Erik turned to his old body, unable to control himself, just like before, when the man had given him the drink. “I…I’m sorry…for being rude. Now can I have my body back please?”

“I don’t think that was polite enough. This man is your superior, right? At least, you seemed to think so before. Isn’t this man’s body so much better than yours, in every way?” the stranger asked.

It…was true. Looking at his old body now, he was…enthralled. He’d always taken it for granted before, but being outside it, he could properly appreciate it. He got down on his knees, horrified, and said, “I’m sorry sir, I…I was so rude before, I didn’t think. Please forgive me sir…” He sounded so weak, and yet that just made his cock even harder in the front of his very tight pants.

“I don’t know if that’s enough–do you think he needs some punishment, Roy, to remind him of his proper place?” the man said to Eriks old body.

“I think so,” Roy said, and hearing his own voice, hos old voice…it made Erik melt a bit, it was so sexy to his ears.

Together, they dragged Erik up and shoved him against the wall. Then, the stranger handed Roy a flogger, and he started beating the old bear, focusing on his fat ass, and after two strokes, the jeans split apart, leaving Erik–in his now fat, old body–completely naked on the patio. It didn’t stay naked for long though. As Roy beat him with the flogger, things started changing about them both. New clothes appeared on them, replacing their ill fitting ones–a leather harness and tight shorts for Erik, and a full leather suit on Roy’s now young, slender frame. Lust overtook Roy before too long, and he stepped up, unzipped the ass of Erik’s leather shorts, and fucked him, his cock growing longer and thicker, topping out at ten inches, as his frame filled out with even more muscle. Erik moaned in delight as his one-time body fucked his new one, and he grew taller and fatter, until he was six and a half feet tall and close to 400 pounds, covered in grey fur, and utterly devoted to serving his master, inhabiting his old body. When Roy came in Erik’s hole, the final changes came, sealing them in this new life: a collar around Erik’s neck, and a steel chastity cage riveted around his tiny cock.

Roy tugged the lead connected to his massive slave’s collar, and rewarded him with a breath of smoke, before giving him the half smoked cigar he’d been smoking and lighting a new one for himself. The stranger was nowhere to be seen, but Erik no longer cared–he was right where he belonged, serving his master, in the proper body he deserved, and which Erik had wasted for too long.

From @rbbrpigmen: fully concur. For my part, I’ve been more cautious of what sort of stuff gets shared. Fortunately I’m not as hot with the tumblr so much these days, but can find myself going to the original tumblr of something and notice posts that cross lines into dodgy ideology and anything political. There may be one or two posts that edge towards that, but ultimately the idea of these tumblrs are to get your rocks off in imaginative ways and hope everyone’s cool enough to enjoy.

and I could go on but was unaware these reply things had a limit godammit.

I think it’s becoming increasingly difficult to try and parse out who is being ironically edgy with this sort of thing and just erotically shitposting, and who is being earnest with it in a way that is actively harmful. In the end, I don’t think the two of them have that much of a difference in terms of outcome or appearance–you can think you’re just having a taboo laugh reblogging the 14 words or whatever, but it looks exactly the same as someone reblogging it because they actually believe it–and irony is a very weak shield, in my opinion.

We’re all only responsible for what we post. We can’t control the content of others on here, or any other site like this. All we have is our own lines, our own judgement, and we’ll each have to bear whatever consequences come out of those choices.

The Fetish Gun is Loose! (Part 4) [Interactive]

Looks like the winner was out older bear into diapers, humiliation, and watersports. Let’s see what he does when he gets hold of the gun…

Earlier, in the club…

Had Anthony really seen, what he’d just seen? Even now, it was almost impossible to believe it, even though it had happened, right there across the upper floor of the bar. He had been stashed back in a dark corner, watching that man pick up and toy around with that odd gun he’d found in that booth. Then, he’d shot himself with it, and after…he’d been different. Really different, but Anthony hadn’t really been able to remember how different–it was like the earlier version of the man had been scrubbed from reality, and replaced by the freak in the booth–massively hung, wearing a singlet…but that had just been the start of the insanity. He’d just…eaten someone, with his fucking cock. He pulled himself further back as the man stood up, hauling along the heavy, monstrous thing hanging from the front of the singlet, and went down to the dance floor–he was so taken with the sight, he didn’t realize, for a moment, that the man had left the gun behind in the booth.

He moved quick–grabbed the gun and retreated back to the booth where he’d been, stopping only to grab the piece of paper that had fallen from the table to the floor, which turned out to be a summary of the gun–and it’s five features. It would have been unbelievable if he hadn’t just witnessed it in action. The shit he could do with this thing–the possibilities already had him hard in the front of his pants.

Anthony had a few quirks of his own–though they mostly had to do with other people, than himself. He loved humiliating guys more than pretty much anything–but most of all, he loved forcing guys into diapers and making them piss themselves. He didn’t get to enjoy his fetish very often, because finding guys to go along with it was…difficult. But with the gun, it wasn’t going to be a struggle at all. He turned the setting to A, and then went to the edge of the balcony, where he could look down at the crowd below.

The silicone guy was down there, with half a dozen guys clambering for his attention. He must have used setting B–and as tempting as it was to shoot him…he set his sights on someone else instead, as he dragged his obsessive group of hanger ons away from the dance floor and towards the dark back of the bar. Instead, he spotted someone better–someone he knew. Rick was an “A Gay”, always muscled, always on trend, and always desired. He was in the middle of the dance floor now, wearing just a skimpy thong showing off his substantial junk bouncing as he danced to the music. Anthony leveled the gun at him, held an idea of what he wanted in his mind, and shot him with a ray of yellow, watching it sink into his skin, the thong shuddering…and growing into a thick diaper.

Rick noticed, and was horrified, but he couldn’t stop dancing. People were noticing, pointing, laughing–and then he started pissing himself. He couldn’t stop the flow, and there was so much of it–it overflowed the diaper and ran down the insides of his thighs…and he was so turned on, by becoming the laughing stock of the entire club, that he started groping the front of his diaper, his cock hard, milking himself to orgasm in the warm, saggy diaper. Anthony shot him again as he did, and Rick’s perfect body began to melt and distort. He wasn’t muscled anymore–now he was more chub than anything else, his perfect hair lank and greasy, crooked teeth leering around him at the men laughing, groping harder, loving how everyone could see just how much of a loser he was now, and he came, loudly and obviously, before a bouncer dragged him off the dance floor–but Anthony intervened before they could kick him out, and pulled the much changed Rick into a corner, shoved the loser down to his knees, and soaked him down with his own piss, before making him suck him off right there in the club.

“What do you think now, hotshot? Think you’re the coolest fucker in the club now? Can you even remember was a hot piece of meat you were before?” Anthony said.

Could he? Rick could remember, vaguely, who he’d been–but thinking about that only made him even hotter, knowing that he’d fallen so far, into this nasty piece of shit, stuck in diapers, humiliating himself in the hottest gay bar in town. “No sir, I’m a filthy, diaper wearing loser. Can…can I suck your cock sir?”

Anthony made Rick beg for his cum, plead for it, tell him exactly what a loser he was and how much he loved it, making sure everyone around them knew exactly what kind of pervert he was, and what he wanted–and Anthony finally milked his load onto Rick’s face, and told him to leave it. Then he grabbed the gun and twisted the dial–he wasn’t done with Rick yet, not by a ways.

This time around, we have a bit of a twist! There are three standard options, but the fourth one is special–the more people who vote for backfire, the more likely it is that the tables will end up turned against Anthony next chapter, in different ways, depending on which one of the top three gets the most votes. So mind your vote!

Uses setting C to turn his diaper man into a literal, corruptive diaper he forces another jock to wear.
He uses setting A to add more humiliating fetishes to Rick’s mind.
He uses setting D to create an incestual relationship between them, with Anthony as Rick’s domineering father.
Backfire! – The ending total percentage of this option (combined between both polls, not averaged) is the possibility of the top option among the other three backfiring on Anthony.

Here is the twitter poll

Here is the patron only poll

Voting ends on Thursday!

From @yearofthepiglet: I think this post is thoughtful, and I appreciate ot! Regarding the previous comment, in erotic context, there’s no purely visual cue to separate a racist/nationalist/naxi skinhead from a purely gay fetish-type skinhead. Eroticizing the latter often looks/feels like eroticizing the former. A PoC or Jewish person reading stories about skinheads could easily believe fetishists were becoming even more unwelcoming to them by fetishizing the people who brutalize them.

I think, visually, this is spot on, but I have a bit more latitude in written erotica to draw out these sort of distinctions. I also think that PoC and Jewish folk (speaking as someone who comes from a Jewish family) can make their own determinations about what excites them sexually–which might have nothing to do with what they want to experience in real life. People are…complex, and oppression is complicated, and sexual desire is murky, confusing, and impossible to rationalize. What you feel just is what you feel–these answers today are just my attempt to communicate how I am feeling now, at this moment, about what I (don’t) want to write and why.

Mostly, I think it’s important to distinguish between sexually fantasizing about fascist behavior and relationships (which I think is, generally, outside of ethics, because I don’t think we’re really capable of controlling these sort of feelings) and actually belonging to an authentic fascist group (which is most certainly not, ever, ok). Fantasy is…complicated. Sexual desire is complicated. The joy of BDSM as a sexual politics is that it provides a framework where these sorts of complex desires can be mediated between people in a safe environment and with consent. In the same way, fiction and erotica can be a way for people to explore these desires in safe contexts. But these same frameworks can be hijacked and used to excuse behavior and beliefs which are damaging, hurtful, and dangerous to not only others, but to our own communities as well.

I generally want to believe the best of people, but realistically speaking, gay men aren’t immune to the pull of white supremacy as an ideology, and I have no real interest in enabling that, or fueling it. I think, at this point in politics, it’s more important to be careful about what we say, and how we appear, and take stock of what we are enabling, and who we are valuing, in our communities, and why.

From @mynewme88blog: I thought gay skinhead where the a bigger fetish thing no need to put put poletics into any thign and why not make a erotic horror tranfomation

It’s impossible to just remove politics from something. The choice to attempt to divorce something from politics is a political choice itself–a choice to ignore the implications and context of what your doing, because otherwise, it might make you, or others, uncomfortable. The idea becomes all the more laughable when you suggest removing politics from a cultural fetish which is coded throughout with political history, symbolism, and meaning.

That said, if it doesn’t bother you, it doesn’t bother you–that’s fine! I’m not here to pass judgement on it, just that, over time, it has come to really, really bother me, in a very visceral way. I don’t enjoy looking at gay guys playing dress up as authentic fascists. I don’t know, personally, how to really write stories that navigate a space with that kind of content anymore. The few things I have written along those themes before just kind of make me feel sick now, honestly.

It just isn’t what I want to write. If that’s what you want to read, there are plenty of other writers here on tumblr to fill in the gap for you.

How do oyu feel about bodybuilder and skinheads ? will you at soem point make more storyies featuring themagain liek the filthy body builder in oen of oyur x-mas story?

I fell pretty neutral on bodybuilders as a general concept, and skinheads are–well, they’re a bit difficult to read and write at the moment, honestly, with rising tides of fascism. Not all skinheads are fascists and nazis, obviously, but it becomes a bit difficult to see where one ends and the other begins with some folks on here, and that makes me hesitant to utilize them. But I cross lines in my stories all the time, of course–that’s why I consider them, primarily, horror fiction before I really think of them as erotica. But it’s…exhausting, honestly, trying to find all the boundaries (both my personal ones, and larger social ones) between irony, fantasy, authenticity, the taboo, and the fetishization of forces that want to kill us at the end of the day, is such a painful task, and one that can hurt me, and others, if done wrong.

Because I don’t want these stories to hurt people. Make them horny? Of course. Make uncomfortable? Sure. Scare and terrify? Sure. But hurt and injure? Not what I’m aiming for, and so I’m going to avoid those things that I don’t feel like I have a good enough grip on to walk that line.

I struggle with other areas too–redneck and rural stereotypes, for instance, are becoming difficult for me to deal with in some ways. I don’t know if I can go so far as to say it’s “bad” to write this or that, because I’m pretty sure that, at the end of the day, most of what I write is “bad”, but for me, it’s also necessary to write it, for reasons that I can certainly rationalize, but which don’t lie within the realm of rational thought (if that makes sense). I can only write what I know, and what I enjoy–and at the moment, there’s a growing list of things I just don’t enjoy writing anymore, because I kind of makes me feel a bit sick. Skinheads are at the border of that. Racial change is definitely in that category. I can’t pretend those are universal “No’s” for everyone, just for me, personally.

Will I make stories about them again? Probably. I’ll certainly write something about it for someone’s commission, I just might not publish it.

Ever use any Tumblr users in your story? I’d love to see what perverted things you’d do to them!

I have, on occasion, used pics from people I know in stories, either by accident (before I became friends with them) or after, either as the very occasional gift, or commission. I’m hesitant to share the reference stories though, without their permission, because most of them weren’t advertised as them. That said, if we’re in the same networks, you might recognize a few folks in photo captions here, or over on my now defunct side blog, @brackenousjunk.

There is, also, one picture of me on this blog, in a rather compromising situation, taken by a good friend of mine, also on tumblr. Consider it an easter egg, if you know me well, and know what I like irl, you can probably guess.