Curse of the Homophobe (Part 1) [Interactive]

Evan was tired of it. Tired of the insults, of being shoved into lockers at school, of guys shouting “faggot” and “queer” at him from the windows of passing cars. All of it. There wasn’t anything he could do about it though–and in his opinion, there wasn’t even anything that “faggy” about him–not like some of the guys he’d seen, or some of the guys in the porn he liked to watch, he supposed. Yeah, he had a bit of a lisp, and he tended to sashay slightly–that, and he definitely loved sucking dick. Still, where the insults would have reduced most people to tears and depression, Evan reacted differently. He was angry. Angry all of the time, so angry, he barely even noticed it anymore, it was just a constant, seething, bubbling mass in his guts that never went away. He’d have fantasies though. Fantasies about the men who bullied him, about beating them, humiliating them, doing what they did to him right back, but tenfold. Maybe it was that, which drew the spirit to him–but in any case, he never really knew why it appeared to him that night in his bedroom, after one particularly cruel fantasy, thinking about some jocks he had a run in with earlier that day. He’d wiped up his cum, and there it had been, a massive, hulking shadow glued to his wall, two bright, gem-like eyes where it’s head was, staring at him.

The terror in him was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, as it slid along the wall, closer to him. Then, he saw something. A powerful vision overtook him, similar to the fantasy he’d just had, but far more powerful. Bending over Curtis Barrister, the top jock of the school, and Evan raping his hole while he rained abuse down on him–but it was so vivid…like it really was happening. Then, it was gone, and he heard a voice in his mind.

I can give you the power. You can have your revenge on all of them, if you so desire it.

For real? Was this just some hallucination? A nightmare? If it was, then does it really matter? He did want it. He had a feeling this thing wouldn’t have come to him, if he hadn’t known he would accept its offer. The darkness slid closer to him, and then slid over him, and everything went dark, and he couldn’t move his body. The darkness was more inside him, and he could feel it, in that anger in his stomach, changing it, changing…him somehow, and he came again, the most powerful orgasm he’d ever had, and then fell right asleep, the spirit chuckling in the dark, as it faded away. Evan would have his revenge, certainly, but it likely wouldn’t be the sort of revenge he was expecting. Anger could twist people in strange ways, after all–and vengeance was never kind to the avenger.

Evan woke up the next morning, certain it had been a dream, and nothing more. He got up and got ready for school, but he still couldn’t shake the sensation that something about him was different. He was still angry, but it…tasted different, when he felt it, but that didn’t make sense even to him, when he experienced it. There was a definite sense, too, that things would be different today, like how he felt when a thunderstorm was on the way. He said goodbye to his mother, left the apartment and hit the street, walking to school…wondering when the first insult would hit. But the anticipation was different too, in his guts. Usually he just felt fear and anger as he braced himself, but today, part of him was almost…excited. Eager to experience it, and that terrified the rest of him even more. Still, who knew what the day would hold? Maybe everything would be fine. The spirit in him knew better, though–and it was eager to see the curse it had laid on Evan work for the first time.

He made it all the way to school, however, before the first insult came his way–and sure enough, it was none other than Curtis Barrister himself, and his posse of football friends, calling him a faggot. His face burned red…but he felt that same heat infusing the rest of him too, and he was feeling a bit…sick. He went to the bathroom near the entrance of the school and ducked into one of the stalls–and as soon as he was alone, he looked down, and saw his body was…changing. He grew six inches taller, body filling out with muscle, his skinny jeans and tank top became gym shorts and a t-shirt bearing the mascot of the high school–along with word football. No–he tried to fight it, but there was nothing he could do–when he stumbled out a minute later, Evan was gone–or at least, he wasn’t the Evan he should be. He was…a jock. Strong jaw, flat top, cocky grin, and worst of all, he knew he was best friends with Curtis.

His head throbbed, and Evan–the gay Evan, receded. In his place, someone else took control of his body, a very, very straight Evan–sort of. He was, still gay, actually–but this version of him was deeply in the closet, barely able to admit it to himself. Still, this new version of himself would know exactly how to act around his straight jock friends–and with his girlfriend, Stephanie Hawkins. The whole day was torture, hanging out with his new jock buddies, kissing his girlfriend, making fun of nerds and even throwing a few barbs at his friends…but as he did, Evan noticed something else. Whenever he threw a casual insult at Curtis or one of the other jocks…they changed. Not much, but enough that he began to understand what this curse was–and what the spirit was offering him.

After practice, he and Curtis happened to hang back chatting a bit, and showered alone together. He accused Curtis of looking at his cock, and called him a faggot, and watched as his bully started to get hard–and so Evan decided to have his way with him, shoving him up against the shower wall and fucking his loose hole, calling him a faggy sissy, a weak little cocksucker, and watched as his words came to life. When he finally came, it was a very different Curtis who fled the locker room–barely 150 pounds, short, ass and mouth hungry for cock all the time–the exact kind of faggot Curtis had always seen him as. He was horrified by what he’d done–but even more horrified when he saw himself in the mirror of the locker room. He was…massive. Thick with muscle, hairy all over, the exact kind of alpha jock he’d always detested–and feared. This…he wasn’t stuck like this, was he? He could…sense that the curse would, now that he’d dealt with his primary target, let him change back, or he could visit a few of the other jocks on the team too. But if he did…who would he become then? Would he even remember who he’d been before? No–he wanted to change back–he pushed his way forward, and saw the hulking frame in the mirror begin to recede at last.

He was back in his old body, but not everything was back to normal. He was more muscular for one thing, and he remembered, now, that he was on the track and field team, when he’d never played sports once in his life. He was hairier too–was this all because of what he’d done to Curtis? He got home as quickly as he could, but struggled to fall asleep–and got a text from a number he didn’t know late at night–it was Curtis, looking for a fuck. He had new memories now of Curtis, a hopeless sex addict, as a frequent fuckbuddy at school, and his stomach turned into knots all over again. He could hear the spirit laughing in his very soul, and Evan knew all he could do was wait until someone else insulted him–and he’d be forced to change them as well.

Alright, so for those of you who visit CYOC, this is loosely inspired by the branch of straight TF and “were-breeder” stories that are somewhat popular (and which I have contributed to in the past). I’ve always found an appeal in them, but also found some of them super uncomfortable, so I want to push them in a slightly different direction with this interactive. This intro is a bit longer than usual, just to give an overview of how the curse functions, but for clarity’s sake, Here’s an explanation:

First, when Evan hears a homophobic insult directed at him, he will find himself helplessly transforming into someone similar to the person who insulted him. For example, if it’s a jock, he becomes a jock too, or a redneck, or a skinhead, or whatever it might be. Evan is still present, but his body’s new persona is doing most of the driving–that is, he can’t really act out of his new “straight” character. That said, his personas are all still, technically, gay–but deep in the closet.

Then, in his straight-acting persona, reality shifts so that he is friends with the person who insulted him–and he discovers that whenever he insults him (and people around him who share his views) those insults are capable of changing them.

However, the more he changes them, the more he changes as well, the persona becoming more and more extreme, and the more danger he is in of forgetting about his real self, and the persona taking over for good. He can only change back after he turns the original insulter gay and has sex with them (he can be bottom or top, but will usually tend towards top in this scenario), but he can remain in the persona longer if there are other people he wants to change–at the risk of losing more of himself. When he changes back, he keeps some of the qualities of the persona he had before–the more extreme he became, the more likely the changes will stick.

So, with that out of the way–what sort of person is going to insult Evan next?

A gang of skinheads threaten him on the street.
Some gaming nerds at school being edgelords.
Some middle-aged construction workers on his way to school.
A prudish, older conservative christian neighbor.

Here’s the twitter poll!

Here’s the Patron poll!

Polls close in two days.

Remembrances – Episode 1 (Part 6)

“No!” Harry said, and crossed his arms, “I’m…I’m not hungry.” He was, in fact, a bit peckish, but as far as he was concerned, this was one hill he was willing to die on.

“Not hungry, eh? Something else you’d rather do on our lunch break, then, buddy?”

That hadn’t been Mr. Elroy’s voice. It had been Wilbur’s, but it had come out of Mr. Elroy’s mouth. Just…hearing him again, filled him with such longing, but Harry pushed back, as best he could. Wilbur wasn’t real. None of this was real. “You’re…not him. You can’t be him…” Harry said, shaking his head, hand shaking and dropping the ash of his cigar onto the floor beside him, where Mr. Elroy stamped it out, before plucking the half smoked cigar from Harry’s hand.

“Careful now–if you can’t be careful, I won’t let you smoke in here anymore–you’ll have to do it outside.”

“I don’t…I’ve never smoked before in my life…” Harry said, staring at the cigar, trying to remember where it had even come from.

“Nonsense–you smoke like a chimney, Harry. Now–you said you didn’t want lunch–but don’t you at least want a snack?” Mr. Elroy unzipped the fly of his pants, stuck the cigar in his mouth, and pulled out his cock. It was erect, and inches from Harry’s face in the recliner. “Go on then, you old faggot.”

“I’m not a faggot!” Harry said, bristling at the word. No–he wasn’t a faggot. He was…straight. What he’d had with Wilbur, that was something else. He’d never really known how to explain it, and he’d never dared tried to talk to Patricia about it…though he suspected she’d known something was going on between them. No–but not one of those limp-wristed faggots. But Harry pushed those thoughts aside too. He’d never been married–hell, he’d never even had sex before! He…honestly didn’t know if he’d been gay or straight, not anymore. Everything just felt so muddled in his head, and just impossible to untangle. “I’m…not a faggot…” he said again, less certain this time.

“No?” Mr. Elroy said, and then…something happened. It wasn’t Mr. Elroy standing in front of him–it was Wilbur again, and he wasn’t in that apartment, he was in his old living room. Was it…a memory? Was it something else? “What about for me, Harry–think you could be a faggot for me?” Wilbur said, and stroked his bearded cheek. He looked…so young, like when they’d first met, and when Harry looked down at himself, he saw that he was young too, his leg uninjured, his body strong and vital, and he was so…happy, and so hungry, he leapt on his lover’s cock and started sucking on it. “Yeah, that’s it–I never could keep you off this thing, even if I wanted to try.”

Harry didn’t care–he was happy. He was happy here, in the past, where he…where he felt like he belonged. “Fuck Wilbur, I’ve…I’ve fucking missed you so much,” he said, licking around the head of his cock.

“Yeah, I know how you get without a good fucking, buddy–now come on,” Wilbur said, and hauled Harry into the bedroom, getting his suspenders off his shoulders and his pants down, pushing him over the bed. “This is what you want, right you fucking faggot?”

That…that didn’t seem right to him. Wilbur would have never called him that, but fuck, he did want it. He was so fucking horny for his cock, it felt like ages since he’d been fucked properly. “Y-Yeah, give it to me Wilbur.”

“You old fucking pig–I’ll give you what you fucking need.”

It was rough, and it hurt. He tried to pull away, tried to get Wilbur to slow down, but he just grabbed hold of Harry’s hair and tugged him back onto his cock, told him to take it like the man he claimed he was. It hurt, hearing that…but he was so hard, all the same. He just let it happen, let Wilbur have his way with him, the room filling with his cigar smoke, and when he came, deep inside him, the bedroom scene around him evaporated, and he was back in the apartment bedroom, his leg aching, Mr. Elroy’s cock throbbing inside his ass, laughing. “Yeah, that’s a good old fuckpig–faggot is right. No man would moan like that with a cock deep in his ass, right?”

Harry tried to crawl away, and Mr. Elroy let him, Harry trying to sort out what was real, and what wasn’t. Wilbur…Wilbur had never treated him like that. No, that wasn’t really a memory, was it? It was so hard to tell, like he didn’t even know his own life–but of course he didn’t, because none of it was real! He had to remember that, Wilbur wasn’t real, none of this was real. “You…That wasn’t real. I know this isn’t real.”

Mr. Elroy shrugged, “I suppose. But what’s real, Harry, really? What do you know is real?”

“I’m…I’m not supposed to be old. I’m a fucking kid, goddamnit!”

“Oh? And where’s the evidence? Real things should have evidence, right? But your dad doesn’t even remember you, Harry–or your son, I should say. That’s just a fabrication of a feeble, senile mind. But don’t worry, we can make you better, Harry, if you want to get better. We can help you remember everything. And what you remember–well, that will be more real than anything else, soon enough. So tell me, Harry, what’s real? Is it this?”

Mr. Elroy reached out and touched him, and a fantasy came back. Wilbur was there, they were in bed, a rare moment alone, just…being close, just loving each other in the small, cramped, secret spaces of their lives. It was tender, and it was so…tender. It felt like it would crumble at the slightest touch, if he wasn’t careful. Then, before he could really appreciate it, it was gone, and Wilbur was on top of him, ramming his cock in deep, demeaning him, threatening him, humiliating him–he hated it, and craved it, all at the same time. Then, he was back, and Mr. Elroy pulled his hand away.

“What’s real, Harry? It’s up to you–depending on how much you want to…cooperate.”

Remembrances – Episode 1 (Part 5)

The meal ended, and Mr. Elroy told him it was time for them to get back to the room, so they could get to unpacking. Harry forced himself back to his feet with a grimace, leg shaking–he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it all the way back there, not like this. “What’s wrong Harry, need some assistance?”

“No, I’m fine,” he said, through gritted teeth, hobbled over to the wall and used it as a prop to get down the hallways, and back up to his room. Mr. Elroy followed a few steps behind, saying nothing, but always being just loud enough to make sure Harry knew he was there–that there was nowhere for him to go, not really. “Why are you doing this?” he mumbled to him in the elevator, panting a bit from the pain in his leg.

“Because I have to. Because I can,” Mr. Elroy said with a shrug, “Bigger reasons than you’ll ever know, really.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s all the answer you’ll get. Besides, I suggest you worry less about me, and more about you.”

Harry didn’t know what he meant by that, exactly, but the elevator arrived at his floor, and he was at the home stretch. He made it to his door and opened it, making a beeline right for a chair at the table in the kitchen, and he sat down in it with a grunt. Mr. Elroy entered behind him and shut the door, and checked the clock. “We’re behind schedule, Harry–if you can’t keep up, then I’m going to have to make you use the cane.”

“Fuck you–just…fix it. I won’t run.”

Mr. Elroy shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that, Harry. There’s no going back, not for you.”

Harry did his best to keep his face neutral…but what if he was telling the truth? He’d want him to think that, no matter what though–so even if it was true, it wouldn’t do him any good to believe it.

“Look, everything will make much more sense in a little while. Why don’t we get some of the sheets here uncovered, eh? I’m sure you’ll be feeling more like yourself in no time.”

Mr. Elroy went around the room and began pulling sheets off the furniture. Everything looked like an antique, and to Harry’s confusion, every piece also seemed…familiar to him, somehow, like he’d seen them before in a store, or some stranger’s house. No–that wasn’t right. He knew them because they’d been in his house!

That wasn’t right. He knew that wasn’t right. He’d never owned a house–hell, he’d never even moved out on his own from his parent’s home. Yet…his mind was telling him something else, that all of this furniture was his. That he’d had it all in his house, and moved as much of it as he could into this cramped little apartment…but the context was simply missing from all of it. “Stop…Stop!” he shouted. “I…how are you doing this to me? Why do I know everything about this stuff?”

“Because it’s yours, Harry,” Mr. Elroy said, “I mean, if you don’t want to remember this, we can do that too. But let me tell you Harry, it can be very, very lonely, not recognizing anything around you. Never knowing who the person at your bedside is–the nurse, your son, your grandson. But we can do things that way, if you want.” He walked over to Harry, and looked down at him, “But trust me–it’s better to have a life like this, than nothing at all. If you’re good, I might even let you forget about that old you–give you a bit of peace. If you beg.”

Next, Mr. Elroy opened a box and started pulling out framed pictures, took a hammer, and started hanging them up around the room. First, his wife–Patricia, who’d passed away close to twenty years ago. How…how could he have forgotten her? Then, a photo of him and several other men in front of an old factory–the factory he’d worked his entire adult life, until the accident, which had mangled his leg, and left him disabled. Lastly, there on a shelf, a smaller photo of him…him and another man, back when he was in his thirties, both of them smoking cigars.

Wilbur. Fuck. His heart broke, looking at him, all over again. Losing Patricia had been hard, but losing Wilbur–he’d never felt like the same man again, after burying his best friend in the ground. No–more than his friend, they’d been…lovers. Lovers since the day they’d met on the factory floor, sneaking around behind their wives all their lives, but fuck, they hadn’t been able to stop themselves. But he was gone, and Harry was alone now. He got up, went to the humidor and pulled out a cigar, lit it, and sat down in his favorite recliner, lost in his resurgent memories, reliving his life as it sprang up around him, feeling those old thoughts and memories begin to recede away into the depths of his mind. Mr. Elroy let him stew for a while, and went about unpacking more of the apartment, arranging things around Harry, until it was a little while before noon, and he went up and gave him a light shake of the shoulder. “What do you say Harry, ready for lunch?”

Harry gave a start–he’d been so lost in his memories, between this life and his old one, that he’d completely forgotten Mr. Elroy was there at all. He looked up at the nurse beside him, and his breath caught in his throat–how…how had he not noticed it before? Smiling down at him, he looked…exactly like Wilbur. Well, not…exactly, but it was so close that Harry muttered his name under his breath, as he stared up at him, trying to sort everything apart in his mind.

“Something wrong, Harry?”

He shook his head, and looked away. “No, it’s a trick. This is all just a trick!”

“Sounds like someone’s a bit grumpy without their meal. Now come on, let’s go eat some lunch.”

Remembrances – Episode 1 (Part 4)

Someone was shaking him in his bed.

“Dad–dad, I’m up, alright? I’m up…” Harry muttered, trying to push the hands away, but something felt…wrong.

“Now now, Mr. Willis, do try to keep that old head of your straight–we do want to try and keep that senility at bay, don’t we?”

Harry’s eyes went wide, and he found himself staring up at Mr. Elroy, looming over the side of his bed, “No–no, no no!” Harry muttered, and went to try and rawl his way off the other side of the bed. He’d hoped it had been a dream, when he’d woken up. That he’d just been late for school, or his dad just wanted to make sure he was awake. Not this–not this still. It couldn’t possibly be real–people don’t just…age 40 years in a day!

Mr. Elroy calmly walked around the bed, and met him at the other side. “I assure you, Harry, that today will be much, much more difficult for me if I have to add a sedative to your medications this morning. I will–but that will only make things so much worse for you, in ways you won’t understand. Trust me when I say that you want to mentally present for unpacking day–you’ll be much, much less confused, and less confusion helps the brian last longer–trust me, I’ve been helping doddering old men like you adjust to their lives here for many years now. I know what works.”

Harry looked up at him, and then at the door of the bedroom. Could he make it?

“You won’t make it–not with those arthritic knees of yours,” Mr. Elroy said, brushing a hand against Harry’s legs, and as soon as he did, a throbbing ache grew in the joint there, making Harry wince. “Getting old can be such a pain, right Harry? Now, are you going to cooperate, or am I going to have you drooling down the front of your clothes, and shitting in a diaper today instead?”

Harry could see in Mr. Elroy’s eyes that he was serious–and after what happened last night, he had no doubt that the man could make it happen. He nodded. “A-Alright.”

“Good. Now get out of bed, and let’s get started on your morning routine. A shower first, of course. While you’re in there, I’ll look around and put together an outfit for you to wear. Then we’ll get you your medications. Breakfast is at 8:30. We’ll come back up here after that and start getting you unpacked. Lunch will be a little later, and if you’re good, I might let you go to bridge night this evening.”

Harry had never even heard of bridge, much less played it–but he kept his mouth shut. He’d just have to bide his time, and wait for an opportunity, when Mr. Elroy let his guard drop, since there was no way he’d be able to take him in a straight fight–not feeling like this. Getting out of bed with his sore knees was a struggle. Mr. Elroy suggested multiple times that he get a cane for him, but Harry refused. He might look like an old man–he might even feel like an old man, in some ways, but he could still walk! Mr. Elroy helped him into the shower, and while the water warmed up, he sat Harry down on the toilet and made him suck on his cock for a couple of minutes, before getting him into the tub. Harry took his time in the shower, trying to sort his thoughts out, and sizing up his body–what he could do, how fast he could move–but it didn’t seem like he was very capable of anything, which is probably just how Mr. Elroy wanted him. Still, he finished his shower, and managed to get out of the tub on his own, toweled himself off, and went back into the bedroom, where Mr. Elroy was waiting, with some clothes laid out on the bed beside him.

Harry knew he could have gotten dressed in them himself, but Mr. Elroy insisted that he help. Harry could sense that he enjoyed it–that he liked making Harry feel helpless, or like a child he was taking care of. First was a plain white undershirt and a pair of briefs–both feeling oddly threadbare. After that came a button down blue cotton shirt, some well worn and well stained jeans held up by wide strap suspenders (Mr. Elroy made certain that the suspenders were tight enough that the pants went over his belly, rather than under it–he said it made Harry look much more “properly old”). Then, woolen socks and some work boots. In the mirror, Harry couldn’t even begin to recognize himself–there didn’t seem to be anything of his old self even left to see in the reflection. It was just…a stranger, an old man wearing what looked like some old work clothes–but Mr. Elroy was certainly pleased.

“Alright Harry–time for your medications!” Mr. Elroy went into the bathroom for a moment, and returned with a small cup with several pills in it. Harry asked what they were for–he didn’t recognize any of the pills himself. “Oh, just the usual things for a man of your age–arthritis, high blood pressure, persistent heartburn. Why? Would you like some more? We can always arrange that, if you’d like.”

Harry just shook his head, and put the pills in his mouth, swallowing them with the water Mr. Elroy had brought with him in a cup. Mr. Elroy offered him the cane again–after all, it was quite a walk to the dining hall for breakfast–but Harry again refused. He had to hobble slightly down the halls of the building, and Mr. Elroy told him they might be late if he didn’t move faster, but he wasn’t about to give into that crutch without a fight. Still, by the time they reached the dining room, he almost wished he had taken it–his leg ached, and pain was radiating up his back as well–he’d never been as thankful to take a seat right then in his entire life. Breakfast was bland, smooth, and nutritious. Mr. Elroy sat with him but didn’t eat anything, but no one else came by who Harry felt he could trust to get help from. After all, who would believe him? Mr. Elroy could just lie, and say he was senile, and no one would believe a raving old man, especially not if he was ranting about some…vampire turning him old.

Remembrances – Episode 1 (Part 3)

He did, and whatever junk Mr. Elroy had messed with in his head–he did want this. He wanted it bad. As he sucked, he could sense that the changes to his body were slowing down, but they were by no means over. His frame filled out with a few more pounds of fat, his potbelly becoming a proper gut, and the last of the color drained from his hair, leaving it just a dingy grey, including a mustache which grew in over his lip, brushing the surface of Mr. Elroy’s cock as he sucked, making him shiver, groa, and then grab the back of Harry’s head and start fucking his throat for real. He choked and sputtered, but didn’t have to last long before Mr. Elroy came, cum flooding into his mouth, and he swallowed it all down, like Mr. Elroy wanted him to do, before letting the cock fall from his mouth.

“Yeah, look at you–that’s real nice. We’re gonna have a real nice time here, you and I, trust me,” Mr. Elroy said, stroking his wrinkled, jowled cheek.

“Please…I…just let me go, sir…” Harry muttered, shocked by how weak and pitiful his voice sounded, “I’m sorry, if I did something wrong, I just…this can’t be right. This can’t be real…”

“Oh, it’s very real, trust me,” Mr. Elroy said, “More real than you realize.”

There was, suddenly, a knock on the door. Hoping for someone who might save him, Harry went to shout, but the voice locked up in his throat. “Now now, don’t go making a scene, Harry. Let’s get you up and situated,” Mr. Elroy said, “Your son can wait a moment, right?”

Mr. Elroy helped him up to his feet, and pushed him into a sheet covered armchair, before telling him to stay put–then he went and answered the door, and to Harry’s surprise, his father walked into the room. “There you are, Mr. Willis. I was just getting your father settled in.”

Harry could see a moment of confusion on his father’s face, but it softened in moments. He had to–this was his only chance! “Dad! Dad, it’s me, It’s Harry!” he said, weakly, trying to get out of the chair, but he couldn’t manage to stand on his own, “Don’t…don’t listen to him, don’t!”

Peter looked at Mr. Elroy in alarm, but as soon as he met his eyes, he relaxed again. “Don’t mind him, Mr. Willis. Your father has had a long day moving in–he’s just tired, and confused. Why don’t you come in and say good night.”

Peter stepped into the apartment, and walked over to Harry. “Alright dad–Mr. Elroy is going to take it from here, alright?”

“I sure will–give us a day or two to get him unpacked and settled down, and then you should come by and visit.”

“No, dad, I don’t want to stay here, not with him.”

Peter looked at Mr. Elroy apologetically, “I’m sorry, he…doesn’t quite know himself anymore.”

“Well, that’s why he’s here, Peter. Don’t worry, these sorts of episodes come and go, but it’s good you brought him in early, before the dementia really sets in. It will make the transition easier.”

“I’m just…surprised. He was always so sharp, and now seeing him like this.”

“It can be a shock–you need some rest too, Peter. Now go on home, and come back the day after next for a visit–I guarantee your father will be in much better shape.”

“I work all day though. I don’t known when–”

Mr. Elroy shushed him. “The day after next. Come after lunch, around two. Don’t worry about work, family is more important, right? I’m sure they will understand.”

Peter nodded, thanked Mr. Elroy, and then left the apartment. Harry just stared at the door, aghast, unable to believe what had just happened. His dad…hadn’t even remembered him. No–he had remembered him, but not as his son–his dad somehow thought Harry was his father! “I…What did you do to him?”

“That young Harry you think you remember is gone now. He never existed. You’re Peter’s father now. It will take some getting used to, I know, but trust me, once we get you all unpacked, you’ll remember everything you need to remember, and you’ll be much more pleasant to your son the next time you see him, without sounding like a deranged old coot.”

“But I’m not crazy! I don’t have dementia, I’m not even old!”

Mr. Elroy smiled at him, but it had no warmth. “That is true–I’ve gone rather easy on you, so far. But trust me, Harry–if you give me much trouble, I can make sure that brain of yours looks like swiss cheese in a few hours. You’ll be bedridden for a few months, barely aware of yourself, pissing and shitting in a bedpan until you finally expire. It’s all the same to me, really. So, do you want to cooperate, and enjoy the now substantially abridged life you now have, or should I go ahead and call the nurses to take you to our hospice wing?”

Harry shook his head no, and with Mr. Elroy’s help, he got out of the chair, and allowed the man to lead him down the hall, to the small bedroom at the end. Like the rest of the apartment, sheets covered most everything, but Mr. Elroy uncovered the bed, helped Harry out of his clothes, and then shoved him over the side. “Now, how about a good night fuck, and then we get you tucked in?” he said, and slid his cock into Harry’s ass, “We’ll get you all unpacked tomorrow, and get you more…familiar with your new self. It’s my favorite part, really–I can’t wait to find out who Harry Willis was, can you?”

May Suggested Stories Ready for Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Sorry for the missing post yesterday! There will be another chunk of Remembrances at the usual time today, and here’s a bonus post for today, since this month’s suggested stories are finished! As usual, anyone contributing any amount gets access to these stories, and gets the privilege of suggesting ideas each month as well. Here’s a story I wrote for everyone last month.

Taking My Place

It had been innocent, at first. These things always were, to begin with, you never really understand where it all goes wrong. Well, Evan knew where it had gone wrong, but it wasn’t at the beginning. He was just a mild mannered family man, recently married, and currently trying have their first child, though conception was proving to be a bit tricky. It didn’t help that his workload at the company was heavy, and so he’d been staying late at work–late enough that he’d cross paths with the same janitor each night as he cleaned the floor, an older fellow by the name of Ross.

Evan had never really known how to broach the subject with his wife, but he was decidedly bisexual, and Ross ticked…all of his buttons, on the masculine side. Older, chubby, facial hair, a little dirty. It came out one night that Ross was, in fact, gay–and it didn’t take too long after that for the two of them to strike up an affair in his office during the evenings. Had things stayed there, everything would have worked out just fine–but two things happened instead.

First, Ross’s shifts changed, so that he was working during the days rather than the afternoons and evenings, like before. Second, Ross…found something. Evan had never seen it, or knew what it was, exactly, but it had a power unlike anything he’d ever seen before, something which, at first, Evan was eager to experiment with. During their evenings together, Evan had often told Ross about how stressful he found his job, and how he actually envied Ross a bit. Not in the money category of course, but it seemed so…easy, just cleaning, and going home. No real responsibility, no boss looming over him, no clients to upset. Just once, he said, he’d love to be in his shoes for the day.

And so, that morning, Ross strode into Evan’s office–and he switched them. Evan didn’t know how he did it, but one second he was behind the desk, working on an account, and the next he was standing in the doorway, wearing Ross’s coveralls–with Ross’s patch sewn on the front. Before he could freak out, Ross switched them back, and then told him what he could do–he could change places with people, he could even trade parts of their bodies, and even parts of their minds. He wanted to give Evan the chance to do what he’d wanted, which was to work a day in his shoes. It was no worry–he could switch some of their knowledge around too, so they’d both do well, and at the end of the day, they’d change back. And so, Evan spent the whole day as the building’s janitor, and knew exactly what to do, and at the end of the day, they changed back–but not before having sex in each other’s roles. Even more to his surprise, he enjoyed it–or rather, they both did, and Ross promised not to abuse his newfound power.

On occasion, when Evan needed a break, he’d let Ross switch them. But slowly, he began to notice…other things. Ross showed up one day with a new dick–a big dick, much larger than the one he’d had, and told Evan he was just borrowing it for a while from someone else. Evan noticed things about himself shifting around as well. Before, he’d always been the more dominant of them, but one day, he found that all he could think about was bottoming. He demanded to know what Ross had done, but he denied everything, but soon after that, Ross made it clear that he was the one in charge–and if he wanted to sit in the cushy office, then he was going to sit in the office, and Evan would be cleaning bathrooms and emptying trash cans. Evan found himself working as a janitor more and more often, and whenever Ross allowed him sit at his desk for the day, he never could quite get a handle on what he was supposed to be doing. He’d have to scour the building for Ross and beg for his help, and the older man would switch with him for the rest of the day, fixing everything he’d managed to screw up, while Evan cleaned up after everyone else, and then sucked Ross’s massive cock to thank him.

It seemed that the only place Evan was safe was at home with his wife. He knew he should quit and get away from Ross, but he needed the money–that, and from some hints Ross had dropped, he’d made it clear that if Evan tried to run, he’d most likely regret it. That, however, didn’t last for long. Ross came to work without his massive cock one day–instead, he had a tiny, one inch member, which was soon Evan’s one inch cock. Ross told him he’d be keeping that one for a while, but that he didn’t need to worry; he knew Evan was trying to have a baby, so he’d made sure to leave him his balls–if he could manage to get in his wife’s pussy. In fact, Evan hadn’t been able to get aroused in bed with her for months–he suspected Ross had messed with his head and made him completely gay, but he didn’t dare confront him about it. After his cock, Ross began leaving more and more of his old self with Evan when they switched back and forth, and soon, Evan would look in the mirror at his home, and see a younger version of Ross staring back at him. It was horrifying, but this…this was beyond anything he could have imagined him doing.

It was Friday, and that meant it was almost time for two whole days without Ross messing with him. At this point, Evan worked as a janitor everyday–he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d even done his “real” job. He’d gone back to his office to switch back, only to discover that Ross wasn’t there–he’d left early and gone home. To his home, to his wife! He found a note on the desk for him, and Ross told him that if he and his wife were having such a hard time conceiving a child, Ross wanted to help him out. Furious, he stormed out of the building, wanting to head home and confront him–but he discovered he didn’t remember where he lived. In his mind, he lived in the city, in a grungy little apartment, alone…where he spent all weekend, usually, getting drunk and jacking off…right?

He tried to remember, he really did, but he had no car, no memory, and no way of getting there–and so, resigned, he went home to his apartment, where he found the computer on, receiving a video feed from…somewhere. It was a bedroom, but whose? There was someone in it, though–or two people rather, a man and a woman naked and getting ready to have sex, and he realized it was Ross, in his life, getting ready to fuck his wife…and just thinking about it was enough to make his little prick hard as a rock. He watched them fuck, he loved it, the idea of the janitor fucking his wife in his body, in a better body than his had ever been, actually. He…he deserved it more than he did, he deserved all of it. Evan didn’t deserve anything, he was just a stupid fucking pervert, after all. Evan made his decision, then and there–come Monday, he’d offer Ross his life. He was making the most of it, after all…and as long as he got to watch it, he’d get plenty of enjoyment out of it too.

May Suggested Stories Ready for Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Remembrances – Episode 1 (Part 2)

Harry really didn’t have any interest at all in whatever the guy might want to show him, but he also definitely didn’t want to have his service hours scrapped by some vindictive adult. Together they went back into the building, and Mr. Elroy led them to a bank of elevators, and they entered one. In an enclosed space, Harry sized him up–if he tried anything creepy, he could probably take him. He looked to be around fifty, with a healthy bit of grey in his beard–probably in twenty or thirty years, he’d be another one of the old fucks around here too. They ended up on the third floor, walked down the hall to one of the rooms, Mr. Elroy pulled out a key and unlocked it without even knocking.

“Shouldn’t you at least knock or something?” Harry said, a bit disturbed about just walking into someone else’s room without permission.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Mr. Elroy said, “Now come in here.”

Harry peeked around the corner and into the apartment after Mr. Elroy turned the lights on, and saw why he’d said that–everything was all packed up into boxes, aside from the large furniture, which was covered in sheets. “So…what, we’re going through some old person’s things before they move?”

Mr. Elroy looked back at him. “No one who lives here moves away, young man. They die.”

Harry’s gut twisted at the realization, and he felt like an idiot. “S-Sorry. We really shouldn’t be in here then, you know? This is kind of fucked up.”

“Harry, come inside and shut the door behind you.”

He didn’t want to go in there–he no longer cared about his service hours, he’d go talk to the woman at the desk about it. He didn’t want to be anywhere near a bunch of stuff belonging to some cadaver…but instead, his legs moved him into the apartment, and he closed the door behind him.

“It was sad, watching him go. Watching him lose himself,” Mr. Elroy said, as he walked through the room. “Can you tell me anything about him, by looking at his things, Harry?”

“I mean…not without opening something up, I guess,” he said, “Look, I get it, alright? This is creepy. I don’t care about my hours, I just want to go.”

“Yeah, you can’t tell anything about him. You know as much about him right now, as he knew about himself two days ago, as he was dying. Advanced dementia, right at the end. Such a shame, really. So confused and scared, trying to understand who he was and what was happening to him. Fuck, just thinking about it is getting me hard all over again…” Mr. Elroy said, and adjusted the front of his pants.

The guy was some fucking creep–he fucking knew it. Harry turned and tried to open the door, but it had locked, or jammed, or something–the handle wouldn’t budge an inch. “Let me out you fucking weirdo!” he shouted at Mr. Elroy, and kept fighting with the door.

“Harry, calm down, and come over here please.”

Again, like before, his body disobeyed his mind, and he walked over to where Mr. Elroy was standing in the living room, his heart pounding in terror. How in the world was he doing this to him? It didn’t make any sense–he just wanted to leave. “Please, I’m scared, just let me leave…”

“You should be scared, Harry. Most people are scared when they see magic for the first time. But I’m hungry, Harry–and you, your life, you smell…delicious, you know. I have to eat healthy lives to keep my own health, you know, and I think you could learn a lesson about age.” Harry was close now, close enough that Mr. Elroy could reach out and touch him. “Such youth would be wasted on you, like it’s wasted on all you mortals.”

What happened next–Harry could never quite find the words to describe it. Mr. Elroy reached out with both hands, and rested them on both sides of his face, but as gentle as the touch was, there was spiritual violence that he felt deep in his core, a sheer terror, but his body could not flinch away as something–life, youth, spirit, vitality, potential–was drained from him right into Mr. Elroy’s fingertips. The touch likely only lasted seconds, but to Harry, it seemed to extend into hours and days, caught in that moment, unable to move, unable to resist, until they came away from him, and the exhaustion flooded into his body, sending him crashing to his knees.

“Look at me, let me look at you. Look up at your master, you old fuck.”

He did. He didn’t have the heart to fight him–his will and resistance had been sucked away along with whatever else Mr. Elroy had drawn from him. The glimmer of delight in the man’s eye frightened him…but he could see changes all the same. A bit of grey missing from his beard, a firming up of his flesh. With a wave of his hands in the space above him, Mr. Elroy summoned a thin mirror, hanging in the air, and Harry could see himself–his new self–for the first time. He had aged at least into his forties, if not a bit further–his hair was greying and receding, wrinkles had begun to crease his forehead, eyes and mouth. He looked away from his face and down to his body, where his muscles of youth had been sapped of their strength, and a potbelly had sprouted, pushing his shirt out where it rode up awkwardly.

Mr. Elroy waved the mirror back into the void from where he’d called it, and opened the fly of his pants, allowing his thick cock to fall free, leaking a bit of precum from the tip, inches from Harry’s face.

“Tell me what you want, you old fuck.”

Harry looked up at him, desperate and terrified, and when he met Mr. Elroy’s eyes…they weren’t the same eyes that had been looking at him before. Or perhaps they were. Perhaps, whatever veil had been guarding their true nature had dropped, and the piercing eyes he couldn’t look away from had always been there. They pushed into him–Mr. Elroy pushed into him, into his mind, and the words that came out weren’t the ones he’d thought–even the voice didn’t sound like his own. “Fuck, Could sure use yer big, fat cock lodged down my fuckin’ throat.”

“That’s what I thought–now start sucking.”

Carnival (Part 9)

“You guys–we have to fight this. This isn’t right,” Finn said, pulling away from his friends, or rather, his lovers, in the mist of the tunnel. “Can’t…can’t you see that something about all of this is wrong?”

Garth and Dylan just looked at him, their eyes slightly pink. “There’s…nothing wrong with this, Finn–you know how we feel about you, how we’ve always felt about each other.”

There was a flash then, a flash of them all in the locker room after practice, sneaking looks at one another, taking their time until they were alone, and they could go to the showers together and–

Finn pushed the thought away again, and slid around the circular bench to be as distant from the other two as they could. This ride–it wasn’t a ride at all. They were literally falling in love with one another! There had to be something he could do, some way to snap the two of them out of it, but how?

The sides of the boat were high, but were lower where they’d gotten in. He reached down into the cool water, scooped some up in his hands, and flung it at the two of them, hoping it would bring them to their senses, but when it struck them, both of them glowed pink, and Finn watched them begin to shift. In their minds, both Garth and Dylan found their love for one another growing deeper–and also growing longer. They had met in college, sure, but by now, that had been years ago. In their forties now, and happily married for nearly 20 years, all Finn could do was watch as his best friends, the young men he loved, became two pudgy, middle aged bears, still kissing and even deeper in love than before.

“That was a few bad thing to do, to try and destroy someone’s love,” a voice said. Finn looked around for the source, but couldn’t see anyone–it seemed to be coming from the mist all around them. “But don’t worry, your daddies will take good care of you.”

Before he could do anything, the mist descended on him, cloaking him in pink, filling his mind with love–love for the two older men across from him, but also dulling him, sanding off the edges, making that love into something singular and obsessive–so powerful, it was all he could think about. When it cleared, and he saw his two daddies, Garth and Dylan, looking at him, he thought his heart would burst, and a moment later, he was pulled over the center of the boat, all three of them kissing together, until they had Finn undressed, Garth and Dylan fucking him at both ends, telling him what a good boy he was, telling him that he was going to be their boy forever.

When they reached the end of the ride, all three of them having cum, and forgotten their old lives and souls in the tunnels, Garth and Dylan got out first, both of them wearing jeans and flannel, suspenders tight against their guts, looking like the perfect bearish couple, and then they helped Finn out–and Finn looked down at himself in shock. He was wearing overalls, but with shorts on the bottom, something like what a toddler would wear, with a shirt underneath with cartoon characters on them. He was shorter than his daddies, and quite a bit chubbier too–but something making him look larger was the diaper he could feel around his waist. “Wow daddy! That was a fun ride, I love you so much!” he exclaimed with his usual youthful enthusiasm, and hugged both of his daddies tight.

“I gotta admit–it’s nice to be reminded of what’s really important,” Garth said, winking at Dylan and giving his husband’s crotch a squeeze, “I don’t know about you two, but I’m a bit tuckered out–how about we all head home and call it a night?”

Dylan agreed, and while Finn tried to protest, and insisted he could go on more rides, the way he was yawning gave away how tired he was. As they left the ride, Finn felt a warmth spread across his groin, and it took him a moment to realize he’d pissed right into his diaper without a second thought. “D-Daddy? I think I had an accident,” he said, looking at Garth, who smiled back.

“Goodness–guess its a good thing we diapered you up, eh, you dirty little boy?”

Finn nodded, his little cock hard in the front of his wet diaper.

“Well, you want us to change you here, in front of everyone?” Dylan said, “Or is the dirty little boy going to have to wear a sopping wet diaper all the way home?”

In the end, he wore it home. Finn loved the feeling of a wet diaper, after all, and his two daddies always enjoyed it when their little cub made a mess like that. Deep inside him, some other version of himself was horrified, but it didn’t matter–love was the most important thing, after all, and Finn was going to love his two daddies forever.

This is the end of this interactive for the moment. I’ll probably run a Patreon only poll in a day or two, to see if there are any stories people would like to see me wrap up and expand on a bit.

Remembrances – Episode 1 (Part 1)

“I still don’t understand why I can’t just drive myself,” Harry said, as his dad turned into the parking lot of the Oak River Retirement Community.

“Because we need the car so we can take your brother to his games–you know this, Harry,” his dad, Peter said, and pulled around the front of the building. I’ll pick you up at around seven, alright?”

“That’s the thing! They have nothing for me to do after six–I’ll just be sitting here for an hour.”

“I’m sure they can find something else for you to do, Harry–you need those hours to graduate.”

Harry heaved a sigh, and got out of the car, staring at the grey building in front of him. There was no river. There were a few oaks, but they looked…tired. As tired as the old people he could see milling about inside, through the windows, playing bingo, or whatever it is old people do when they get old. Harry was seventeen–getting old was as far from his mind as it could possibly be–he was getting ready to go to college on a football scholarship, but like an idiot, he’d put off his community service until the end of the year. At least he only needed ten more hours–five this week, five next week, and he’d be good to go.

“Fine, I’ll see you at six, dad,” he shut the door, Peter waved, and drove off again to fetch his younger son, Aaron, and take him to his baseball game. He was just a year younger than Harry, and they were often mistaken for twins because of how similar they looked–and when they were with their dad, there was never any mistaking the resemblance between them all–strong jaws, blonde hair, green eyes, and a natural athleticism that had served both boys well through their youth. Their father, Peter, had aged gracefully, turning forty a few years prior while keeping his muscular physique, all of his hair, with only a touch of grey at the temples and in his short goatee.

Harry stepped up to the doors, feeling very out of place, and saw a reception desk off to one side manned by a young woman. “Hello–My name’s Harry, and I was told I could volunteer here today for my community service requirement at school?”

She smiled, “Hello Harry–we’ve been expecting you. Each Saturday, from noon until five, we like to have young students over for some social time with our residents. It helps them keep their minds sharp, and we like to think you students learn some things from our elders too. The room is just down the hall there, to the left,” she said, pointing down the corridor behind him. “Mr. Elroy runs the sessions–just ask for him if you need any help.”

Harry thanked her, and went in the direction she’d indicated, and after a few doors, he saw a sign with “social time” written on it, and an open door. Inside, there were a few students he recognized from school, all of them seated with residents, listening–or at least trying to listen, in some cases. A middle aged man, looking to be about fifty, stepped up and greeted Harry as he entered, shaking his hand. “Hello! Come to join us today?”

Harry nodded. Mr. Elroy showed him to a sheet where he could sign in, so that they could confirm that he’d attended for his school, and then he took Harry to a seat, next to a very old man who started telling him about the war–after an hour, he never did figure out which war exactly he was talking about, but he learned the names of two men who’d died in front of the guy’s eyes, and also the names of several prostitutes he’d gotten knocked up while on leave. That, it turned out, was the most entertaining story any of the residents had to offer him. His attention began to lag, and whenever it was clear that he wasn’t paying attention, Mr. Elroy would come over and force him to engage with whoever he was talking to, prompting questions, looking for new stories, and by the time five o’clock hit, Harry was sick of the guy. Still–he just had to do one more week, right? It hadn’t been too bad, really. The residents filed off to dinner, and the rest of the students went to the front of the building, chatting a bit about what they’d been listening to. Still, ten minutes later, Harry was alone on the bench outside, staring at his phone, stuck waiting for his father to be done with his brother’s game so he could come get him.

“Thanks for coming today–you have no idea how much they appreciate it, even when you aren’t really paying that much attention.”

Harry gave a start, and looked over to see Mr. Elroy standing by a trashcan, smoking a pipe in the evening spring light. “Oh, yeah…some of the stories were interesting…”

“Kid, you wouldn’t be able to remember anything about what they said if I asked you, don’t lie.”

Harry scowled at him, “So what? You just said it didn’t matter if I listen or not.”

“I could always just scratch that name of yours off the list you know,” Mr. Elroy said, a gleam in his eye, “You should watch your tone, young man. Memories matter–you’d hate to see what happens when you lose them.” He tapped out the pipe and tucked it in a pocket of his coat. “In fact, come on, I want to show you something.”

“Dude, just leave me alone, I’m sorry, alright?”

“Come on, or I’ll scratch out your name. If you do come, I’ll mark you down for twice the hours–how’s that sound? Double or nothing.”

Harry didn’t know what to say, really. Could the guy really do that? Well, of course he could, but would he? Harry heaved a sigh. “My dad gets here to pick me up at six.”

“We won’t be that long, promise.”

The Bruiser Rapes – Episode 2 (Part 4)

I didn’t tell him about the apartment just yet–instead, I asked him about Bernard, about whether anything he’d seen him say reminded him of his own experiences. He was dismissive of him. Bernard didn’t know anything, really. He said that he didn’t matter, that he could see Master had gotten tired of him, found nothing worth his time and effort, not like him–and only realized after the fact that he’d let his guard slip. I pressed him, and he clammed back up, refusing to say anything at all. He knew more about this–all of it–than he was willing to tell me, but I didn’t understand why. What sort of loyalty could this rapist possibly engender in his victims, that they would go to these lengths to defend him, and praise him? I had seen Stockholm syndrome before, on rare tragic occasions, but this…this was something else. This was a degree of change and control that, I had no reasonable explanation for at all.

He wanted to leave, and I told him it would be best if he settled down, and waited for his clothes to arrive, so he wouldn’t leave walking around in a prison jumpsuit. He didn’t argue with the point…but I think he also realized that no one was going to be finding anything of his back at the address he’d given me in the car. Instead, I went to my superiors–I wanted to hold him overnight, or really, as long as I could manage. I knew, if I wasn’t careful, that as soon as he was out of here, he’d disappear just as quickly as Bernard had. Ray changed tactics, and instead started asking about Jules–he still wanted to apologize to him for his accident earlier, and I told him I’d do my best to find him…but he was beginning to panic. Jules, however, had returned from his place, wearing a new change of clothes, and so I told him Ray wanted to talk to him and apologize–and that anything he could do to convince him to cooperate would be a big help.

Jules was a bit off, though. I didn’t realize it in the moment–after all, what we’d been through that day had us all a bit on edge, but I remember smelling the piss on him still–piss and something else, something that I now think was probably his own cum, judging by what happened later. Maybe if I’d been less distracted, I could have prevented what happened next–but as I was about to go down with Jules to see him, Marcus, Mr. Cold Case, came barging in, demanding to see the latest victim I was holding. Jules went down to talk to Ray, while I dealt with him. I refused to let Marcus get involved, of course and he had no legal ground to demand anything from me at all– but I was more interested in how he’d learned about us bringing him in, because as far as I’d heard, no one from the media had caught wind of the case yet. He made a scene eventually–I think he was trying to get locked up down in the hold with him, but in the end he left without doing anything stupid. With that taken care of, I went down to holding, only to discover that, while Marcus had been distracting me, Ray had simply left.

To say I was furious was an understatement. I demanded to know who, exactly, had cleared him to leave, and the officers on duty told me that Jules had gone into the room with him for a few minutes, alone, and then the two of them had left the precinct together. I went into the room where the session had been taped, rewound the footage, and watched and listened to what had happened when Jules had gone into the room, but as…normal as the encounter might have seemed on the surface, something was very, very wrong.

Jules had entered the room and hurried over to where Ray was standing, getting…very close to him, and on the tape, I think I can hear him sniffing, or maybe even snorting. “There you are,” Ray said, “I wanted to say sorry for gettin’ my piss all over you earlier,” Ray says, putting one massive arm around Jules’ shoulder, and bringing him close, turning around so their backs were to the camera. Whatever was said next I can’t make out on the tape–they’re both talking too quietly, but I can see Jules leaning in closer and closer, nodding along to whatever Ray is telling him, and then they leave–and when they leave, I can see that Jules is hard as a rock in the front of his uniform pants, eyes a bit distant, licking his lips–and Ray just looks…thrilled with himself, somehow.

I called Jules immediately, but he didn’t answer. The Captain was furious that we’d just let a victim walk out without getting any information about where he was going or what he was planning on doing–and I didn’t have a good answer for him. I went by Jules house that evening to talk to him, but his wife told me he’d come home to change, reeking of something awful, and had left again without even bothering to shower. He didn’t show up again the next day either, and now the Captain was even more furious–not only had a victim walked out on us, leaving us with a dead end on the most high profile case in years, apparently he had kidnapped one of our own cops in the process.

I had no leads. All I had was the video from the interrogation room, and so I poured over it, turned up the volume as much as I could, watching body language from those few minutes, trying to understand. Trying to understand why, without even knowing why, I kept trying to jack off while I watched it. Trying to understand why I could still…smell him, even now, as I walked around the precinct. I found nothing–and so I started digging into Ray’s past, only to discover it was scrubbed. No employment records. No driver’s license. No birth certificate. Someone had wiped him off the face of the Earth, whoever he’d been, and left a stinking brute in his place–and the monster who did it had who knew how many other victims in the wings, ready to reveal to the world whenever he wanted–and there was nothing I could do to stop him.

To Be Continued…