I Dream of Bacchus (Part 4)

Still, after a month, things seemed to have…stabilized. He’d grown to around 275 pounds, and was hovering there. His body had filled in with hair, and he seemed to have a perpetual layer of stubble no matter how often he shaved, his hair always long and greasy. He drank three bottles of cheap wine a night, binged at a near constant rate, and endured constant ridicule, but he was feeling…somewhat more sane. And then, one night, he found himself back in the wood, but the intensity was vivid again, like that first time. He desperately tried to keep his feet from walking deeper, but like he was in a trance, he ventured towards the clearing, towards the revelry–and found someone else there, amongst the animals. It was Aarin, with a cruel smile across his face, beckoning Raury closer.

“There you are–taking your sweet time. You were almost late,” Aarin said, as Raury tried to figure out what, exactly, his ex-lover was doing here in his fucked up dreams. “Fellows, why don’t you make your Bacchus comfortable, while we wait for our other guest.”

The beasts gave a great shout and cheer, rushed over and hauled Raury towards the makeshift throne they had for him in the midst of the clearing, but he twisted and fought harder than usual, shouting at Aarin, “You–You’re the one who’s doing this to me? This is all because of you?”

“No, Raury, this is all because of you, because you couldn’t be honest. You refused to bring balance on your own, and so I’m forced to take matters into my own hands, and balance the scales myself. And of course, helping out my…acquaintances here is always a pleasure. They’ve been asking me to provide them with a new bacchus for quite some time, but I hadn’t yet found anyone willing. So, I figured, why not take someone unwilling instead?”

Raury was trying to protest and fight the beasts off around him, but as much as he loathed admitting it–he was weak. Not only physically, after his rash of changes over the past few weeks, but…spiritually as well. He’d grown to like the attentions of these beasts–his dreams felt so much better than anything in his real life, and as soon as the bladder of wine reached his lips, he drank–and thankfully, some of the care and worry slipped from his mind, and he rolled over, presenting his ass for whichever beast might desire it.

But none did–or if they wanted him, they didn’t do so immediately, like usual. He looked around, and saw that several of the beasts were hungry to fuck, but they were looking at Aarin. “What, now you won’t even let them have their way with me?”

“Calm down, Raury–we’re still waiting on our other visitor. I think I hear him now, in fact.”

Raury couldn’t hear anything, but several of the satyrs’ and centaurs’ ears had pricked up. After another minute or two, true to Aarin’s claim, someone did come stumbling out of the woods and into the clearing–it was Jared. His boyfriend was standing there, naked, with a rather confused look on his face, as he stared around at the beasts and the stranger looking at him–and Raury, of all people. He couldn’t keep the disgust from his face, the sight of the chubby, hairy, dirty man, and Raury felt so ashamed of himself–but he also felt a bit satisfied. He wasn’t going to be alone in this anymore. He could live with this, if Jared had to suffer the same fate as him–but it wasn’t the beasts who went after him, as they had Raury–no, it was Aarin who approached him, pulling him to the side, a sneer on their faces as they started kissing and fondling one another, right in front of Raury.

“No–No, you don’t get to fucking take him, he’s fucking mine!” Raury shouted.

“Yours?” Aarin said, pulling away from Jared’s hungry mouth, moving his head lower, Jared kissing at his abs, dropping lower towards Aarin’s cock. “How many men have you been sleeping with behind his back, Raury? Are they all yours too? This is balance, Raury. It’s time for the ugliness inside of you to be on the outside. It’s time for you to suffer what you have made others suffer–isn’t that right, Jared?”

Jared nodded, his mouth around Aarin’s cock–but it wasn’t clear that he even understood what was going on, or if he realized how real this dream actually was.

“Alright you beasts–I gave you your Bacchus. Now it’s time for you to give me my spell, as I requested.”

The beasts grumbled and muttered a bit–obviously a bit annoyed at having to take orders from this man. A few, under their breath, even muttered apologies to Raury, that they wanted to be serving him, and not this man, but that he would still be happy–still be their beautiful Bacchus after this. The pipes and drums began, a pulsing beat faster than the relaxing tunes they preferred, and around him, the beasts began to dance in a tight circle, chanting and singing a calamitous tune which seemed to shake Raury to his bones–but what Raury was focused on–what he couldn’t turn away from, in fact–was Aarin and Jared.

They had moved closer to him–Aarin pulling Jared up off his cock so they could dance to the strange music of the beasts in the clearing, spinning faster and faster until they fell to the ground, and Aarin mounted Jared, ramming his cock into him, and Jared screamed in delight, pushing back, eager to be filled. It was…humiliating, because the only person who had made Jared scream like that before, was him. But that said, it was also hot. He was getting aroused watching the display, watching Aarin fuck his boyfriend in his stead, and unable to stop himself, he reached down and started jacking his own cock, in quick rhythm with the music and Aarin’s own thrusting. But his cock–it was smaller, and still shrinking. Soon, it couldn’t have been more than a couple of inches long, his balls shriveling up as well, but he didn’t care. He wanted…to see them fuck, wished it could be him, but it couldn’t–not anymore–now he was worthless.

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 3)

It was later that he noticed his reflection in the mirror, and the small paunch which had appeared overnight, covering the abs he’d had the day before. He poked it and pinched it, but it was real. Maybe…maybe he really did need to go to the hospital, he thought, but he talked himself down. It was just some crazy dream, is all, he told himself, and he probably just needed…rest. He looked back at the bed and shuddered, and headed for the rest of the apartment, finding himself heading for the couch instead, where he turned on the TV, hoping he might be able to shake the dream in an hour or two–and hopefully whatever strange physical symptoms these were, they would just go away in time. He grew thirsty in a bit, and without thinking much of it, he didn’t get a glass of water, but took an open bottle of wine from the counter back to the couch with him. He’d bought it for cooking a week ago, and still hadn’t finished it–neither he, nor Jared, drank much. He didn’t bother with a glass, he just drank straight from the bottle, massaging his cock while he did so. He went up to find something else to drink once he’d finished that, but all they had was some liquor–not what he was feeling like, but it would do. He brought a pile of snacks along as well, and stuffed his face as he watched TV and drank himself into a stupor. More than once, he questioned what he was doing, and why, but it felt…right, somehow. Unavoidable.

Jared came home from work around seven, and found Raury still on the couch, passed out and snoring loudly. He stood over him, looking down at him…surprised, for some reason, but he knew that he shouldn’t be, right? Raury did this all the time–he was a bit of a drunken lout, really…but hadn’t he been different before? Jared tried not to think too hard about it, and just let his disgust overwhelm him. He can’t excuse his actions. If he wants to be a lazy good for nothing drunk, than who was Jared to try and stop him, or correct him? Jared went and put his things away, and passed back through the den on the way to the kitchen, to make some dinner for himself–assuming Raury hadn’t eaten the cupboards bare again, when he heard a strange whimper come from his boyfriend’s mouth, in between two snores. Jared looked out at him on the couch, and saw him pawing at the air, meekly–some stupid dream probably. Then, with a groan, he saw Raury arch his back a bit, and the front of the underwear he was wearing turned wet–was he pissing himself? No, it wasn’t big enough for that–the fat fuck was having a wet dream of all things. Gagging at the thought, he turned back and paid Raury no mind, eating dinner on his own, doing some work in the study, and then going to bed, all while Jared slept on the couch, deep in his dreams.

For a few weeks, Raury managed to keep some of the plates spinning in the air. He tried to keep going to the gym on a regular basis. He tried to eat healthier. He tried to keep alcohol out of the house. He tried to keep his raging horniness in check. He tried to go to work and stay focused. Some days, he even managed to accomplish two or three of those things, but no matter how hard he tried, every time Jared saw him, Raury couldn’t escape that…look of utter disgust and disdain which had appeared on his face, ever since that first big dream. He did everything he could–he even tried apologizing, but Jared just rebuffed him. He was barred from the bed, Jared insisted that his constant snoring kept him awake, and so Raury was forced to sleep on the couch every night instead. Jared hadn’t touched him once, sexually or not, in that entire time. The one time Raury had attempted to start something with him…Jared had slapped him across the face. He’d apologized, and tried to claim that Raury had just surprised him, but he insisted that he didn’t want to see Raury naked, until he got himself into better shape.

Every waking moment seemed to bring a new humiliation. He was still growing fatter, and he would outgrow new clothes within a few days–that, or they were shrinking, so they always appeared ill-fitting. His hygiene seemed to have slipped–he sweat more, and his BO had become much stronger, and taken on an embarrassing…barnyard sort of scent he was desperate to cover up, but every cologne and deodorant only seemed to make the smell stronger. People at work who used to try and ingratiate themselves with him as a rising star, were suddenly avoiding him like a plague, and his boss kept calling him in to have chats about his slipping productivity, and his sudden tendency to be caught napping on the job.

Indeed, sleep seemed to be the one thing in his life that came easily to him now, and it was the one thing which filled him with the greatest terror. So far, no dream had matched the intensity of the one which had left him unconscious for almost an entire day, but every single one took place in the clearing, with those beasts abusing and feeding him. It wasn’t too long before the stress got to him, and he started slipping further and further off the wagon. One bottle of wine a night became two and three. He would binge from the time he got home in the afternoon, until he passed out in the early evening, often before Jared would even get home from work. He found himself hornier than ever, but since no one seemed interested in having sex with him anymore–especially Jared–he found himself mastubating six or seven times a day, often right into his underwear, helplessly fantasizing about the only things that did seem to desire him–those beasts in the clearing–as twisted as that made him feel.

I Dream of Bacchus (Part 2)

He tried to fight them off, he tried to run. Most of all, he tried to wake up. But this, he could sense, was no longer a dream as he was accustomed to experiencing them. This was now something else–a vision, or a visitation.

“No, please! I’m just lost is all,” Raury said, trying to push the two stinking goatmen away from him, “Just tell me how to get home, and I’ll leave you be.”

The satyrs just bleated with laughter, each one grabbed a leg and dragged him over the earth into the clearing. “Nonsense, little Bacchus! You are our honored guest. We’ve been waiting for you to find us here, and I assure you that we can’t allow you to leave until you’ve sampled some of our hospitality. Feast with us! Drink!” He was well within the clearing now, and the two satyrs released him. He scrambled upright and went to run, but found he’d been completely encircled by the freaks. This close, he realized that their bestial nature was far more pronounced than any humanity they might have–and they were all naked, without exception, cocks from all over the animal kingdom surrounding him. “Here–sample our wine, young Bacchus! It’s been compared to sweet nectar of the gods.”

The satyr shoved a strange, bloated sack into Raury’s hands. It felt like a water balloon, but the surface seemed to be more like the lining of the stomach. It was thin, and semi-transparent–inside, he could see a deep burgundy liquid sloshing about. “My name isn’t Bacchus–I think you have me confused with someone else. My name is Raury, and please, I just want to go home,” he tried to hand the bladder back, but the satyr refused to take it.

“Ah, so young and silly! The Bacchus has a name! Young human–you might be a Raury, yes, but you are also a Bacchus. Now drink. Sample our pleasure! It does not do to be so rude to your hosts here! There are far worse things in these woods than us, and we can just as easily abandon you to them instead, and keep the deal in other ways.”

The gazes of the beasts surrounded him were chilly, and while he didn’t want to–knew, somehow, that he simply shouldn’t–he raised the nozzle of the bladder to his lips and drank a mouthful of wine. It was sweet–sweeter than any port he’d ever tasted, and left a film all over the inside of his mouth which seemed a bit greasy. The beasts urged him on further, demanding he drink more, and so he did, and when the satyrs dragged him over to a long stone table, laden with strange faire he’d never seen before in his life, he ate as well, drinking from the bladder as he did, and he felt the mood around him loosen up. The music began again, and many of the beasts danced wildly around the torches. Soon, Raury felt woozy, and when he tried to walk, he tumbled instead, landing on the ground. “Oh no! Be careful our Bacchus!” a pigman and minotaur rushed over and picked him up, carrying him over to a pile of rugs and carpets near the center of the feast. “Please, rest here–allow us to care for you, our Bacchus.”

The beasts brought more wine, and more food; Raury tried to resist, but the world was too blurry and off kilter for him to stop them from stuffing the food in his face. The faces if the beasts seemed to have turned cruel, their laughter menacing, the music growing quicker and agitated. Hooves and trotters were tugging and ripping at his clothes, and soon he was as naked as the beasts surrounding him, all of them poking and prodding at his body, until one of them rolled him over onto his full gut, making him belch and nearly vomit. The first cock slid into his ass with a bleating cry, and another beast came around to his face, forcing open his mouth and fucking his skull.

He quickly lost count of the beasts abusing him. The wine was dulling him further, and part of him even began to enjoy the treatment, finding himself craving the cum as much as the wine and the food the beasts plied him with in between each cock. At some point, the wine finally overcame him, and he passed out in the dream, falling into a deep blackness which seemed to have no end or beginning–and then he awoke with something between a moan and a scream in the bed he shared with Jared, alone. Sunlight was streaming through the windows–and from the wrong direction. He scrambled for his phone, and discovered it was four in the afternoon. He’d gone to bed around ten the night before–had he really just slept for almost sixteen hours straight? It was with further terror, that he realized it was Thursday–he’d missed almost an entire day of work. He had to call his boss, he had to figure out some way to explain this, but he felt sick to his stomach, and his head was spinning.

He staggered up to his feet and made his way to the bathroom, just in time to drop in front of the toilet and puke up the contents of his stomach into the bowl. He stared at it for several minutes, unable to believe what he was looking at. The water was crimson–not with blood, but with the wine he could still smell. There were bits of food, and a…substantial amount of white, foggy froth. At last, he flushed it down, and got back up to his feet, found his phone and called his work, using illness as an excuse. He’d been so sick, he’d hallucinated calling out in a delirium this morning, and Jared was taking him to the emergency room, he lied. Like usual, the biggest lie he could imagine paid off–and he didn’t have to worry about work the next day either, which relieved him.

Cabin Pressure (Part 2)

It was back, the thing. But not as a weight this time, it was…the ground, the air, all around him. It smelled stale, earthy, and somehow greasy, coating the inside of his mouth and lungs every time he inhaled a bit of it into himself, and with each breath he sank a bit deeper into it. A waterbed, a beanbag chair, it conformed to him, pulled him in deeper, welcoming him and encouraging him, helping him to feel safe, secure, content, and relaxed.

A space that had been nothing was becoming something around him. His gym. A gym. Did he go to a gym? His memories…they were telling him that he had…but the thing surrounding him was doubtful. Wasn’t that a lot of work? It whispered in his mind’s ear, telling him he wouldn’t have bothered, that he was wrong. The gym was fading, slightly. The walls closing in, the workout equipment melting into the floor, or contorting into other furniture–some shelves, a TV, and behind him, a bench had grown into a couch. The floor shifted, and sent him off balance, falling backwards into the couch, the couch accepted him like the dream had, told him he was here, where he belonged, where he always was, watching the TV. The room was dark and tight, dirty. He didn’t like it here, he didn’t want to be down here. He tried to get off the couch, but he couldn’t lift himself away–the weight dragging him back, the couch pulling him in with a strange suction and gravity. He couldn’t breathe, he was stuck, he couldn’t move, he–

Jeff was pushing against something, something fleshy. He thought it was the strange thing from his dreams, for a moment, and then he realized it wasn’t. It was Brian’s body next to him! His face was pressed into his armpit–that musty smell he’d been inhaling had been the massive man’s sweaty musk. Disgusted, he tried again to push himself away, and had to haul himself out of the Brian’s grasp–his arm had encircled him, and pulled him close, while the man had slept-and now awoken to Jeff’s struggle. “Oh goodness–are you alright?”

“What the fuck, man?” Jeff said, sputtering a bit. “You fucking queer, were you fucking holding me?”

“Now now,” Brian said, his tone a bit more gruff, “You fell asleep on me first!” I didn’t mean to hold onto you, I just dozed off.”

“You fucking faggot, you just wanted to feel me up. Probably the first time you’ve touched a muscle in ages, right you fat fuck?”

Brian just cocked an eyebrow, and then sneered at him, pleased with himself. “Must have been some dream, if that’s what you think of yourself.”

Jeff glared at him, but…but something did feel off. He looked down at himself, expecting to see a chubby, powerlifting physique (was that even right though? Shouldn’t he be leaner than that?) but instead, he was looking down at his body–his real body. Fuck, he’d never set foot in a gym in his life! All he fucking did with his time was sit in his apartment, watching TV…and eating. Fuck, did he have a binge habit, and it showed. He wasn’t quite as large as the man beside him, but he’d just crested 300 at his last doctor visit, which had been pretty fucking humiliating–

No, what the fuck was he even thinking! This wasn’t right, this couldn’t be real! He pinched himself, trying to wake up. This had to be the dream, it had to be!

“Nice try, but there’s no waking up from this one,” Brian said, leering at him, leaning closer, pressing some of his weight to Jeff’s side, “Why don’t you go back to sleep, eh? We were just starting to have some fun.”

Jeff pushed back, pushed himself into the corner, trying to keep from touching his seatmate, trying to figure out what was wrong with him. He reached under and unlatched the seatbelt, which was cutting into his gut, stood up, and forced himself between Brian and the seat in front of him, pushing his grasping arms away, while Brian licked his lips, and then he was stumbling down the aisle, towards the bathroom. He needed space, his own space, he had to get away. He got to the bathroom, found it unoccupied, struggled with the door for a moment, and as soon as it was open–he was shoved inside by Brian, who’d followed him up the aisle and followed in by the massive figure, squeezing in with him, and shutting the door behind them both.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Jeff tried to shout, but Brian grabbed him by the face and hauled him close, burying his face between his moobs.

“Now now, just relax, young man. Everything will be fine when you wake up again, I promise,” Brian whispered in his ear, “But we’re going to have to punish you, for being such a fighter–thankfully, I know a few ways to take the fight out of men like you.”

Jeff struggled harder, managing to get a breath of air and spin around, but froze when he saw his reflection in the mirror. Gone was his manicured, slicked back hair, his smooth face–his hair looked like it hadn’t been touched in months, hanging around his head in a mop, the scruffy beard covering his jaw and…both of his chins. He was wearing a dirty, stained t-shirt with some stupid gaming reference, and a pair of massive shorts. He looked like a slob, like a nerd. He was disgusted, he was disgusting. He couldn’t look at it, he couldn’t look at him, and he looked back, into Brian’s eager eyes, and he had nowhere else to go. The man smothered him, Jeff trying, desperately, to reach the door handle, but his hand went slack after a few minutes, and Brian held his limp body close, stroking his body while the younger man snored, eager to have some more fun when he woke again.

Cabin Pressure (Part 1)

We’ll keep going with Officer Wetzel next week (once I figure out what’s going to happen next) but here’s a different story for the mean time.

Just perfect. Fourteen hour flight home, and he’s the one who has to sit next to the fucking fat ass on the damn plane. Jeff regretted requesting the window seat–usually he liked being able to look out, but most of the flight he’d only be seeing ocean, and now he’d be trapped between a wall, and this fucking piece of slab. He was on his way back home after a summer trip to Paris with his girlfriend–he had to go back to work next week, however, and she had another week off, so she was jetting off to Rome to stay with a college friend of hers who was studying there. He squeezed past the fat fuck–he had to be close to 400 pounds–and tried not to look at him, but it wasn’t easy. He had a scruffy beard and longish hair which was receding, with a fair amount of grey in it. He was wearing a dress shirt and slacks, but Jeff couldn’t help but notice the spots under his arms were already damp.

Jeff, on the other hand, kept himself in perfect shape–he worked out regularly with his roommate Kevin, whom he’d known since college–though he wouldn’t be his roommate for much longer. Things were getting pretty serious with Tiffany, and they were talking about moving in together soon after she got back. Still, he was a beast–very little fat on him, broad shoulders, thick chest, a nice ass. He wasn’t exactly small, either, at six foot four, and so he had a hard time squeezing into the seat–no matter what he did, his own, muscular thigh was pressed against the fat stranger’s flab, and it made his skin crawl a bit. The guy smiled at him a bit apologetically, and Jeff rolled his eyes, got himself settled, and popped in his earbuds–signalling to the guy he definitely wasn’t interested in talking. Jeff ignored the safety video, and focused on the screen in the back of the seat in front of him, at the little plane, that massive stretch of ocean, the white flight path leading back to the states, the countdown that hadn’t started yet. He sighed, the plane took off into the sky, and he put on a movie to watch. The guy next to him did as well, but Jeff noticed he kept glancing over at him every few minutes. Was he a fag too? Even worse. Still, Jeff was exhausted, since the flight was an early one, and he’d need to sleep a bit. The cabin lights dimmed after a snack–which the fat ass wolfed down–and then the cabin lights dimmed. He waited until the fatty’s head had slumped over, and he was snoring lightly, before leaning against the window, and nodding off himself.

There was a weight on him. It was heavy, almost immobilizing, and while he was panicking slightly, it was also…kind of comfortable–like a thick, heavy, blanket. Yeah, something was pressing on him, but also…also, into him, in some way. The more it was on him, the more he felt heavy himself, and a bit sluggish, and more comfortable, and relaxed, and at ease. He felt soft. He felt…weak, even. It was starting to be too much, he was getting hotter, he needed to get out, he needed–

Jeff struggled out of the dream, only to find that at some point in their nap, the man beside him and slumped over, onto him. No wonder he’d felt something heavy on him! He gave the man a rough shove, waking him up in the process. “Fuck dude! Get off me.”

The man looked groggily, his face flushing. “Oh! Oh gosh, I’m so sorry!”

Jeff knew he should be furious, disgusted, demand the stewardess find him another seat, anything, but looking at the man’s red face, he felt…something else, which he couldn’t quite describe. “It’s…it’s alright. It happens, right?” He smiled, an odd butterfly in his gut.

“Yes, it does, I suppose. Still, I try to be conscious about my space–big guys like us gotta be, right?”

Jeff was taken aback by the comment. He was big in some ways, but nothing like this lard ass. He looked down at himself, but was a bit…flummoxed. Something about his body didn’t seem quite right for some reason. “Yeah, the gym does that.”

“Oh goodness, no gym for me! But you have an impressive powerlifter build, I must say. Very handsome. My name’s Brian by the way.”

The guy really was a faggot, Jeff thought to himself, but the usual revulsion he felt around those types was more muted than usual. He also felt…happy at the compliment, and he did have a pretty stout figure. Plenty of muscle, sure, but a hefty, firm gut as well. The two of them chatted for a bit–Brian was returning from a business trip–when Jeff’s eyes got heavy again, and he started yawning.

“Sorry, I didn’t get much sleep last night, obviously. Blame the girlfriend,” he said with a chuckle, which Brian returned with less interest. That ought to give him a hint at least. “I’m gonna sleep a bit more.”

“Alright, I promise to fall in the other direction next time, if I sleep again.”

Jeff chuckled…but secretly, he’d kind of…enjoyed it. The sensation from the dream had been pleasant, and lingered with him as he laid his head back, and he was snoring before too long. When he Brian was confident his seat partner was fast asleep, he gingerly reached up and put an arm around the back, and gently nudged him, until the a groggy mutter, Jeff slumped over onto him and let off a bit of a groan–the big man adjusting his crotch, and pulling Jeff a bit tighter to his body.

Redneck Haunt (Part 1)

“I still can’t believe ya actually bought a house though! Fuck, I mean, I know that shouldn’t seem so damn outta reach, but I can’t even imagine,” Jay said, looking around the place, Kerry beaming a bit in the kitchen. It was a simple ranch house, a bit rundown, but plenty livable, “Gotta admit, I’m pretty fuckin’ jealous, since I’m still crashing with my damn dad.”

“Well actually, I wanted to talk to ya about that,” Kerry said, “This place has a second bedroom–you want it? I wouldn’t mind a little help with the bills, but mostly I’d just like the company, and ya can help me fix the place up!”

“Fuck, never thought the first person to ask me to move in with them was gonna be a guy,” Jay said, laughing as Kerry rolled his eyes at him.

“If ya don’t wanna, you can keep sleeping on your dad’s couch, I just thought–”

“No, Kerry, I mean…are you sure? I’d love to get the fuck out of my dad’s place, you know that.”

“Sure I’m sure!” Kerry said, grinning, “We can move you in next week–how’s that sound?”

Kerry and Jay had been friends since they were little tykes, running around the small, rural town they called home. The economy was struggling, but chugging along well enough. Kerry had always been the smarter and more diligent of them both–he ended up getting a technical degree and fixed farm equipment around the entire county, which was how he was able to afford a first home at the age of twenty five. Jay had never been the school type, preferring to run around chasing girls. He hadn’t knocked anyone up, thankfully, but he’d dropped out of high school, and the best he could find was the night shift at one of the smoke shops on the nearby indian reservation along the highway. Still, they’d been fast friends for ages, and neither figured living together would be much of an issue, especially with their opposite schedules, and sure enough, for a few months, everything went fine. Jay would work all night, and come home as Kerry was heading out the door for work. He’d sleep the morning, and wake up about the time Kerry came home. In the afternoons, they’d scour thrift shops around the area to furnish the place and make it a bit more livable, or they’d work on some chores around the place, putting a fresh coat of paint on the walls, but when they went to clean out the attic, cellar, that’s when things started going a bit…odd.

The first time Kerry had gone down there, he’d found a bunch of boxes of junk down there along the wall, which he assumed was from the previous owner. He’d called the real estate agent, but hadn’t received much of an answer. They’d decided to just go through it and get rid of it themselves one day, and see if there was anything in there which might be worth salvaging, but the boxes mostly contained a bunch of filthy work gear in sizes way too large for either of them, some kid’s toys, a few assorted knick knacks haphazardly stored away, and a few pieces of furniture in decent condition but filthy. Jay suggested they just haul the whole lot of it off to the dump, but Kerry said he was too tired to do it that day, and they could do it later. True to his word, he headed right off to bed as soon as they got upstairs, and he didn’t get back up before Jay had to head off for his shift at work.

When he got back early the next morning, Kerry was at the table looming over his cup of coffee, looking like he hadn’t slept a wink. “Fuck man, you look like shit.”

“Yeah, I fucking feel like shit,” Kerry said, taking a sip of his coffee, “Didn’t sleep very well.”

“Bad dreams or something?”

“Yeah…s–something…” Kerry said, but didn’t elaborate. Jay himself had had a long night, and so he headed to bed himself, unaware that the two of them weren’t alone in the room, that right there beside Kerry, was a young man, his hand on Kerry’s shoulder, which Kerry was trying to ignore as best he could.

“He’s living in my room, daddy?” the young man whispered in Kerry’s ear, “I’m not sure how I feel about that…Still, since I’m sleeping with you, I don’t think it’ll be a problem for now.” He looked to be in his late teens or early twenties, shorter and stocky, with a solid mix of fat and muscle, and a goatee around his mouth which would have looked good, had he had a few more years of life to grow into it.

Kerry ignored him as best he could, unable to understand how the strange young man who’d appeared in his dreams the night before had somehow been in bed with him the next morning, stroking Kerry’s cock, and then he’d sucked him off He knew, that the young man wasn’t quite real–or at least, he wasn’t real in the same way as he and Jay were, because when he’d tried to shove him off, his hands had passed right through him…but when he’d rested his hand on the back of his head a while later, as he was moaning, he’d been able to feel the young man’s greasy hair under his fingers. He couldn’t tell Jay about this–this didn’t make any sense at all, and his friend would just think he’d gone insane. Hell, he probably had gone insane, right? Isn’t this schizophrenia or something? He needed to get help, he needed–

The young man was still naked, aside from the pair of ratty boxers he’d appeared with, and he leaned in closer, kissing Kerry’s neck, one hand finding his hard cock and stroking it gently, the young man helpless to stop him, and he moaned again, his worry’s lost in pleasure. “It’s so good to be back, daddy–I’ve missed you so much. Don’t worry, now that your boy is back with you, you’ll be happy again in no time.”

“Please–I have to go to work…Don’t do this again.”

“Nonsense Daddy, we have time for another quickie, don’t we?”

Kerry came as quickly as he could, his cock shooting his cum right into his underwear, and then the young man returned control to him, letting Kerry scurry out of the house, and off to his job, trying to shake his dreams and waking nightmare as he got in his truck and drove off. His boy watched him from the front window, and then walked to his old room, where Jay was already sleeping soundly, slipped his hand through the covers, and started toying with his cock as well, before sucking him off all morning long, in his dreams.

The Fuck Dream (Part 1)

The first time he had the dream, he couldn’t believe how vivid it was–almost like he’d simply woken up in his bed, in the middle of the night, as happened sometimes. However, despite how vivid it was, it had felt like a dream all the same. The room…it didn’t seem to have a consistent perspective. He was looking out his eyes, and yet also…looking down at himself, somehow disembodied at the same time. But most disturbing of all, was the stranger standing at the foot of his bed. He ended up referring to him as the stranger, because the figures face kept…shifting. Every time he looked away, and then back, the face would have changed. One moment, it was his father. The next, one of his friends from college, another, his first grade teacher. It wasn’t really any of those people though–the stranger…well, he still didn’t know who, or what, it was.

He realized, as soon as the dream began, that he had no control over his body. Once, when he was young, he’d had several bouts of sleep paralysis, and it reminded him of that. It only grew worse as the stranger climbed on top of him, crushing him, forcing his body into a position on his side, one leg up, and he watched as a parade of faces–men he’d seen the day before in passing, old acquaintences from years passed–fucked him. It began slowly, with the stranger tickling his hole with his cock, as he fought to wake up from the nightmare, but soon, the stranger was pounding in deep, ignoring the young man’s cries and pleas, the dream only dissolving away after the stranger came, and he sat up in his bed for real, covered in sweat.

Sweat and…cum. Looking down, he realized he’d shot a load all over his chest in the night. Unnerved, he didn’t sleep again until the next day, when the dream returned again. And again the next night after that. And again, and again, and again…

Recurring Dreams

He must have fallen asleep.

The sun was still high, Liam hoped that he wasn’t burnt. Looking around, he saw that the pool area of the resort was busy with people, but he was having a hard time pinning down the people moving around him. He was still sleepy, couldn’t quite focus. He rubbed his eyes and rolled onto his side, eyes drawn down the line of chaise lounges to the very fat man he saw near the other end of the pool, also on his side, belly flopping over the side of the chaise, fat pressed between the plastic strips. He was staring right at him, licking his lips.

Liam tried to roll back over, but he found himself unable to stop watching the man reach underneath his belly. He couldn’t see what was there, behind the man’s gut. Was the man actually naked? The belly was jiggling now, why was he still watching this happen? Couldn’t peel his eyes away. Time flowed uneasily about him, people streaming by as the man jiggled there, huffed a couple of times, pulled away his hand, something shimmering on his fingers in the sunlight.

The man sat up and rolled his legs over the side of the chaise then stood up, lumbering towards him. Liam had to get up he couldn’t still be here when the man got here he had to move but his body was so stiff and sleepy and how was it everyone was moving past him so quickly? The man was there, the man sat down on the chaise next to him, and he was naked, he could see the cum on the man’s hand, but he was finally up, standing up.

“I have to go I have to,” Liam said.

“Before you leave, you should probably wake up,” the man said to him.

***

He must have fallen asleep.

Liam tried to roll back over, but he found himself unable to stop watching the man reach underneath his belly. He licked his lips too. He couldn’t see what was there, behind the man’s gut. Was the man actually naked? The belly was jiggling now, why was he still watching this happen? The shake of the belly was somehow entrancing. He was hard, wasn’t he? He reached down and gave his cock a squeeze through his board shorts. Couldn’t peel his eyes away. Never seen a man like him before. Never felt this way about a man before. Time flowed uneasily about him, people streaming by as the man jiggled there, huffed a couple of times, pulled away his hand, something shimmering on his fingers in the sunlight. Liam licked his lips again.

The man sat up and rolled his legs over the side of the chaise then stood up, lumbering towards him. Liam had to get up he couldn’t still be here when the man got here even if he wanted to be there he had to move but his body was so stiff and sleepy and how was it everyone was moving past him so quickly? The man was there, the man sat down on the chaise next to him, and he was naked, he could see the cum on the man’s hand, but he was finally up, standing up.

“You’re hard,” the man said, reached out and groped Liam’s bulge. “Smaller than I hoped.”

“I can’t, I’m not–”

“You should cum on me. Cum on my face.”

Liam’s shorts were gone, he must have lost them in the pool earlier. His dick was hard, sticking straight out in the sunlight. He wrapped one hand around it and started tugging on it, looking at the man’s huge, fat rolls, wondering how they might feel. He was cumming suddenly. He shot a load across the fat man’s face, he licked the load off his lips.

“I have to go I have to,” Liam said.

“Before you leave, you should probably wake up,” the man said to him.

***

He must have fallen asleep.

Liam tried to roll back over, but he found himself unable to stop watching the man reach underneath his belly. He licked his lips too. He couldn’t see what was there, behind the man’s gut. There was something beautiful for him in huge men jacking off. The belly was jiggling now, rolling back and forth in thick waves. The shake of the belly was somehow entrancing. He was hard. He reached down and gave his cock a squeeze through his board shorts. It was so big, so hard. Couldn’t peel his eyes away. Never seen a man like him before. Never felt this way about a man before. Time flowed uneasily about him, people streaming by as the man jiggled there, huffed a couple of times, pulled away his hand, something shimmering on his fingers in the sunlight. Liam licked his lips again.

The man sat up and rolled his legs over the side of the chaise then stood up, lumbering towards him. Liam had to get up he had to get up by the time the man got there had to stop him keep him from leaving he had to move but his body was so stiff and sleepy and how was it everyone was moving past him so quickly? The man was there, the man sat down on the chaise next to him, and he was naked, he could see the cum on the man’s hand, but he was finally up, standing up.

“You’re hard,” the man said, reached out and groped Liam’s bulge. “Nice big cock, very nice.”

“I want, I need–”

“You look hungry, boy.”

He was hungry, he’d skipped breakfast. The man held out his sticky, shiny hand and Liam sucked each finger dry, licked the palm clean.

“You should cum in me. Fuck my face.”

Liam’s shorts were gone, he must have lost them in the pool earlier. His dick was hard, sticking straight out in the sunlight. It slid easily down the man’s throat. He wrapped one hand around it and started tugging on it, looking at the man’s huge, fat rolls, wondering how they might feel. His cock slid easily down the man’s throat. He reached down, groping the man’s fat moobs, pressing his legs into the man’s belly. Warmer than he’d expected. He was cumming suddenly. He shot a load down the man’s throat, watching his fat neck swallow his seed down, and then pulled out. A strand of semen connected head of cock to bottom lip for what felt like an eternity, then snapped.

“I have to go I have to,” Liam said.

“Before you leave, you should probably wake up,” the man said to him.

***

Fuck, he must have fallen asleep.

The sun was still high, Liam hoped that he wasn’t burnt to shit. Cursing, he looked around, he saw that the pool area of the resort was busy with people, but he was having a hard time pinning down the people moving around him. He was still damn sleepy, couldn’t quite focus. He rubbed his eyes and rolled onto his side, eyes drawn down the line of chaise lounges to the fat pig he saw near the other end of the pool, also on his side, big ass belly flopping over the side of the chaise, fat pressed between the plastic strips. He was staring right at him, licking his lips.

Liam tried to roll back over, but he found himself unable to stop watching the man reach underneath his belly. He licked his lips too, feeling his piercings there. He couldn’t see what was there, behind the man’s gut, but he wanted to. There was something so fucking beautiful for him in huge men jacking off. The belly was jiggling now, rolling back and forth in thick waves. The shake of the belly was somehow entrancing. He was so damn hard. He reached down and gave his cock a squeeze through his board shorts, feeling the thick ring in the head. It was so big, so fucking hard. Couldn’t peel his damn eyes away. Never seen a man like him before. Never felt this way about a man before. Time flowed uneasily about him, people streaming by as the man jiggled there, huffed a couple of times, pulled away his hand, something shimmering on his fingers in the sunlight. Liam licked his pierced lips again.

“You’re hard,” the man said, reached out and groped Liam’s bulge. “Nice big cock, very nice.”

“I want, I fuckin’ need–”

“You look hungry, freak.”

He was hungry, he’d skipped breakfast. The man held out his sticky, shiny hand and Liam sucked each finger dry, licked the palm clean.

“You should cum in me. Fuck my fat ass.”

Liam’s shorts were gone, he must have lost them in the pool earlier. His dick was hard, sticking straight out in the sunlight, PA glinting. He wrapped one hand around it and started tugging on it, looking at the man’s huge, fat rolls, wondering how they might feel. His cock slid easily into the man’s ass. He reached down, groping the man’s fatty sides, pressing his legs into the man’s thighs. Warmer than he’d expected. He was cumming suddenly. He shot a load deep into the man’s ass, watching his fat belly shudder as it took his seed, and then pulled out. A strand of semen connected head of cock to sloppy hole for what felt like an eternity, then snapped.

“I have to go I have to,” Liam said.

“Before you leave, you should probably wake up,” the man said to him.

Every night, it’s the same thing, but always a little different, but they’re always getting worse, and you can always remember them perfectly. You had two of them last night–you remember waking up from the first just long enough to jack your rock hard cock off before you fell back asleep into the second dream, but you recall them both perfectly.

In the first–you remember the tiled room, but you don’t remember how you’d gotten there–still, you were dressed to serve. The leather gear was well worn and fit you like a glove, revealing every curve of your fat belly, showing off your tribal tattoos. You were on your knees, waiting–for something. For someone. For anyone. You could feel how sticky your body was, from the build up of all the cum splattered across you. In a moment of clarity, you try to stand up, but the cum has adhered to the tile floor, keeping you there, as man after man files in, coating you in their cum, and soon you can barely move at all. The cum encases you entirely–you’re frozen in place, mouth open, ready for the next load, just a permanent cumdump in some filthy, rundown bathhouse.

In the second, you’re more like you–but still different. No tattoos, but maybe a bit bigger? More muscular? A bit rougher? You’re out at the bar, drinking with your pals, when you tell them that you need to go take a leak. In the bathroom, you walk up to the middle urinal, drop your pants, but before you can piss, the urinal surges to life, erupts from the wall, and grabs the upper half of your body, bending you over at the waist, feet splayed apart, ass out, squirming and fighting against the porcelain. Man after man comes into the restroom, and you try to call for help, but your mouth doesn’t work–the urinal has forced some sort of pipe down your throat, and each man shoves his cock up your loose asshole and pisses into your guts. The urinal has done something to you–merged with you–the piss flows through you and out your mouth, into the sewer, and it tastes…better than anything you’d ever tasted. Soon, you’re addicted, desperate for men to piss down you, use you, fill you with their piss and cum–

You’ve cum again–where are these dreams coming from? What are they doing to you? You drank your own piss for the first time yesterday–it gave you the best orgasm of your life. You can’t stop jacking off and eating your own cum. You long to serve every man you pass on the street–you want to be their urinal, their cumdump, their slave, their property…Pushing the thoughts away, you get up and get ready for work, paying no mind to the dreamcatcher your friend gave you a few weeks ago. It was a strange gift, but he was into that strange occult shit–still, that stuff wasn’t real, was it?

Bait and Switch (Part 3)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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