Taming the Beast (Part 7)

The whole rest of the week, Jacob noticed that he was feeling a bit…strange. Well, strange wasn’t really the best way to describe it–what he was mostly feeling, was hungry. Hungrier than he could really ever remember being in the past, in fact. His meals doubled in size, much to his dismay, but whenever he tried to exert a bit of self-control, it would crumble by the time he ate next, and he’d end up gorging himself until he could barely move. It became a problem at work especially, being around food all the time. He would sneak snacks right off the grill or out of the fryer, and afterwards, started taking home anything that was leftover and would usually be thrown out, and stuffing himself with it before going to bed for the night.

As unnerving as it was, he hesitated bringing it up with Mark. He was just so happy being out of the hospital, and he knew that at the first sign of a setback, he could be readmitted immediately. So he did his best to pretend like nothing was going on at all, as he watched his weight steadily creep upward on the scale he kept in the bathroom, until in a fit of shame and panic he threw it out and went on a weekend long binge, cleaning out his cupboards and fridge, stopping only to masturbate every few hours–though he found it easy enough to do both things at the same time. That was the final straw. He had to talk to Mark about this, even if it meant going back to the hospital. This had to be something to do with the beast–there was no other explanation that he could think of for these sudden urges.

At their next session, before Mark hypnotized him, Jacob told him about what had been happening to him. About the binging, and the fact that he seemed to be masturbating more and more often. Mark was troubled by the new developments, and they talked about it for a while, trying, together, to determine whether what was happening posed a danger to him, or to anyone else. In the end, Mark left the decision up to Jacob, if he wanted to go back to the hospital or not–and Jacob told him this was something he’d rather deal with himself. It felt so good being back out in the world, and he wasn’t ready to go back to being locked up again, not until he felt like he couldn’t handle this himself. Mark told him that he would have a word with the beast, and see if he could understand what this sudden shift in behavior might mean. He seemed to be under for…a very long time. Several hours, at least, and when he came too again, Mark was sitting across from him, though his face was rather grave.

“Was…was everything alright?” Jacob asked him, sitting up from the couch where he’d been lying down.

“Yes, I mean, these compulsions of yours do seem to be related to the beast, but…well, I can’t know anything without further observation. I think the best thing you can do is try to resist them as best you can. Keep track if possible–how often you binge, how often you masturbate, anything else that sticks out to you as odd. We’ll try to get a baseline for the behavior, and see if it gets worse, alright?”

Jacob did his best for a few days, but he kept forgetting about keeping a journal, and the whole exercise just…didn’t interest him much at all. Work was the same. Over the next few weeks, he found himself getting aggravated at his boss and coworkers, and would on occasion break out into a sudden rage that would catch him off guard. He didn’t do any real harm, aside from a couple of broken dishes, but the fact that it kept happening…it terrified him. Was he really ready to be out here with people? He found himself wondering about every tic and every thought, and the constant self-awareness was exhausting. He started oscillating between days where he would try to constantly check himself, and days where he would give up and just indulge in…everything. He would stuff himself, drink excessively, masturbate over and over, miss work, and even fuck on occasion. Men–always men, something he had never done before in his life, but he loved it, and the rougher he got with them, the harder he came–and most of them came back for seconds.

It was Mark who brought up his hygiene one session, awkwardly, like he’d been hoping Jacob would mention it finally, without him having to bear the burden of broaching it. Without having to humiliate Jacob with the knowledge that he hadn’t even noticed how dirty he was becoming. He hadn’t trimmed his beard in weeks at that point, and it was coming in thick–much thicker than he could remember it looking the last time he’d tried growing one out. The same went for his hair, which was quite long, as well as the hair on the rest of his body, which was filling in thicker than he knew it should over his now substantial gut. Looking down at himself, and paying attention to it, he realized that he couldn’t clearly recall the last time he’d taken a shower, and he also couldn’t remember when he’d last changed his clothes. He’d been wearing the same outfit for work without washing it for over a week, which no one had complained about out of fear it might set one of his rages off, and he hadn’t changed the underwear beneath that in…a month? More? It was wet, at the moment, since he’d jacked off before coming over, but he could smell cum…so much cum. They were saturated, as was the undershirt he was wearing. He felt ashamed of himself, ashamed that he was losing so much control, so quickly, without even realizing it in the moment. He couldn’t trust himself, he couldn’t be trusted with himself, but he also couldn’t bear the thought of going back to that hospital either…though he knew Mark was going to call for it.

But to his surprise, Mark didn’t. In fact, he told Jacob that he thought he’d been improving, and after the session he seemed really pleased with how Jacob was progressing. These new behaviors were a surprise, sure, and might be difficult to adjust to, but he was going to have to deal with the fact that the beast inside him was, from now on, most likely going to be a more immediate presence in his life. The best thing he could do, in Mark’s opinion, was keep it satisfied, and likely, in a few more weeks, they’d manage to reach a new equilibrium. It might not be what Jacob wanted, necessarily, but this was most likely the course his power was going to develop. Fighting it would likely only make it worse.

Taming the Beast (Part 6)

The good thing about Cumrag, was that he had the stamina and the vitality to take pretty much anyone Mark brought down here–and Mark had a feeling this beast was going to be a rough fucker. He took one look at the beast standing in the central room, and had a feeling he knew what his Master wanted from him…and he was looking forward to it. He hadn’t been used in weeks now, and he hated it. Hated how lonely it could be down here, just jacking off, fantasizing about his Master using him–needing him–though why anyone would need a cumrag like him was beyond his limited comprehension. “What do you need, Master?”

“Get in the sling cumrag, and don’t talk. Your voice is grating.” Cumrag nodded, and hopped up into the sling, cape hanging under him, and Mark secured his legs up in the holsters, before stepping to one side and displaying him for the beast. “I know you were used by other patrons, on occasion, but please–have your way with the thing. I assure you–it can take anything you want to give, it’s more resilient than it seems, physically at least.”

The beast didn’t hesitate. While it had often serviced people in the bar, it had only rarely gotten the opportunity to fuck…and the few times it had, had been incredibly enjoyable. He assumed that the doctor was telling the truth, and rammed his cock in roughly, not bothering to worry about Cumrag’s feelings, and while he had to muffle a gasp of surprise, his hole opened easy and wide. In less than a minute, the beast was gripping Cumdump’s thighs, slamming his massive cock in up the the hilt, listening to the sloppy sounds of the one-time-hero’s now totally loose hole, the cumrag’s eyes rolling back in his head, helplessly jacking off, so thrilled to be used again, even if it wasn’t his master using him.

“Just think–this hole could be yours at any time, whenever you desire it,” Mark said, coming close to the beast, stroking his burly, hairy arm, leaning in to sniff at his foul musk. “You could indulge your every base desire, explore all of the pleasures of the Earth, right here. His isn’t the only hole I possess either. There are others, and if you please me, you can fuck as much as you want, my handsome beast,” He turned the beast’s muzzle to him, stood on his toes, and licked at his snout, the beast extending his tongue and kissing him as best he could, breath hot and panting as he fucked harder, getting closer and closer to the edge. “You’re have no idea what you’re capable of, you have no idea what you could become. I can help you–let me help you. Let me free you from the man’s shackles, and live here, as my beast, indulging in every profane desire you can imagine. Be mine, and I’ll give you pleasures you have never thought possible.”

The beast came soon after, letting loose with something between a grunt, growl and a roar, unloading a massive load of cum deep into the hero’s hole, and the orgasm was nothing like he’d felt before, when he’d been with Bacanal. Back then, everything had felt good, all the time–but this was a pleasure unlike anything the beast had experienced before, and it lasted for ages. He ended up sitting on the ground while Mark rubbed and pet him, pulling out his own cock, and coaxing it into the beast’s mouth. After all, it was only fair, wasn’t it, that if the beast got to use one of Master’s holes, that he allow master to use his hole as well. It was the price of his freedom down here–that when Master wanted him, he would have him as well, just like he had all of his other Supers down here.

Was it worth it? The beast, in the end, was convinced. After all, it was going to be owned one way or another, and the idea of ownership Jacob had for him was somehow more humiliating–using his strength ang his speed, but never allowing the beast a moment of gratification or pleasure…no, what the doctor was offering, what master was offering, was far better. They went back upstairs together, and Mark put the beast away in Jacob’s mind again, watching the bestial form fade away, and return to Jacob’s usual body. Only then, did he breathe a sigh of relief, and relax. The hard part was over now–he had his inside man. Everything else would be much, much simpler now. He brought Jacob back from his deep dream, but didn’t wake him yet–no they had quite a bit that they needed to discuss. A while later, Jacob woke up feeling refreshed…and famished. Mark offered him dinner, and Jacob was more than happy to take him up on the offer, though he admitted afterward that he made a bit of a pig of himself, eating as much as he did. Still, Mark hadn’t minded in the least–he’d just kept piling Jacob’s plate higher and higher, watching, cock half hard, already excited to watch the rest of his plan fall into place.

Taming the Beast (Part 5)

The beast looked around the room, perhaps a bit confused. It was, after all, the first time Mark had woken it outside of the hospital, so it was likely wondering where, exactly, it was. “This is my home,” Mark said, “The prison where you were has decided that Jacob is…less of a risk, and allowed him to leave.”

The beast gave a few snorts, almost like laughter, and then leered at Mark.

“Remember, you would have never gotten out of there without my help, and if you harm me, there are much worse prisons where they could place you. No–I have something else I would like to…suggest instead,” Mark said. “After all, I know what you want. You want to be free–and you want all of the earthly pleasure you had before, isn’t that right? Most of all though, I know that you do not like being subservient to Jacob.”

The beast snorted again.

“I would offer you something else, other than the occasional moment of freedom. I can give you a life here, with me, one that I think you will enjoy. After all, you liked your life before, didn’t you? In the bar?”

They had discussed it before, but the beast had always been…on the fence, for reasons Mark could understand. The beast had traded complete subordination to Jacob’s ego for a different kind of enslavement, to a very different master. It was reluctant to admit it, but Mark could sense the truth–the beast had liked it, very much. The pleasure, the gluttony, the revelry, the sex. It hadn’t mattered that the beast obeyed a master, so long as it was satisfied. The pleasure made the collar bearable. But more than that–the beast might long for freedom, but it had never known it–it had only ever existed under someone else’s control–and Mark wasn’t about to give it a chance to know any better any time soon, before it knew what it could be.

The beast nodded, hesitantly. It knew Mark wanted something–but Mark had been upfront about that. He had discussed it somewhat, that the beast was…wasted here. That it was meant for something more, and Mark could help it understand its true purpose.

Mark stood up, and crossed the short distance to the beast, enjoying the musk rolling off the thing’s hide. That had been a pleasant surprise as well–Mark had a certain…delight in that. He ran his hands over the beast’s belly, gentle circles, waiting until it relaxed under his hands, and then worked lower, both hands stroking its cock. “You can have that life again. All the food you could want, all the drink. Holes to fuck and dominate. But you can’t do that outside of here–they will find you, and trap you in another cage…and you can’t do it with him, so long as Jacob holds any sway over your body. No–we will have to deal with him, seal him away like he sealed you away, all those years. He deserves that, don’t you think?”

The beast snorted its approval, but whether or not it was listening to what Mark was saying wasn’t clear. It could have simply been enjoying the hand job–but it certainly wasn’t resisting.

“After all, we can both agree that you are the strong one. You’re the one who should be in charge, the one whose needs are paramount. But you won’t be able to do it without me, and if you want my help, then you are going to have to do as I say.”

The beast hesitated, and Mark stepped back.

“You don’t have to decide right now. But downstairs, I can give you a taste of the life I can offer you. Follow me.”

The beast heaved himself up from the sofa, and followed Mark around the corner and down a hallway, to a locked basement door. It was a tight squeeze down the staircase for the sizable animal, but at the base, it opened up into a open area outfitted as a sex dungeon–slings, paddles, bondage racks. Around the walls of the room were several doors, all of them locked as well. Mark went to one of them opened the door, “Hey Cumrag! Get out here–I have someone for you to entertain.”

After a couple of moments, a man stumbled out of the room, wearing nothing other than a cape around his shoulders–or at least, something that had been a cape at one time. Cumrag was one of Mark’s earliest acquisition from the hospital–a strongman Super with a rather weak will, who had been mind controlled and turned to a life of crime for a few years until he was freed. He’d struggled a lot at the hospital in Mark’s care–he didn’t know how to regain his moral center, and felt like he couldn’t trust himself. Mark agreed. Slowly, he’d worn him down, convinced him that everything that had happened was all because he was too weak to know better–that if anything, it had been good for him to be controlled by someone with some sense, good to keep his power away from the world, where he could hurt someone. He’d needed a new purpose in life, a new direction, and so Mark had suggested he help him out around the house, degrading him more and more until he, at last, accepted he was little more than an object. A cumrag. He’d been without a shower for years, at this point, and his skin and hair was caked with layers and layers of cum. The cape he still wore was rigid at this point, and when he was in storage down here, all Cumrag knew to do anymore was masturbate into his cape, his life as a hero forgotten forever–until his services were needed.

Taming the Beast (Part 4)

This is a double post, for today and tomorrow, because there was no good place to split lt!

Indeed, the beast had manifested after he’d been put under, but not immediately. Mark had guided him into a dream, a peaceful, happy dream with a friendly, fluffy dog, and when the beast came out, it was not the fierce, pacing monster he’d seen before. He was a reflection of Jacob’s own imagination–fluffy, happy, soft, and eager to be petted, apparently. It was a bit…strange to see everyone in the room petting him, when he could remember nothing at all of any of it, but he had to admit it was promising. He could, apparently, control the form and personality of the beast to some extent, through his dreams. Mark believed his control was likely stronger than that–that with some practice with guided imagery and meditation, he would likely be able to call the beast at any time, and control it’s form directly. Once he was showing progress along those lines, then he would be ready to rejoin the regular population of the hospital, and then, be released. That was something they were both desperate for, and so, Jacob agreed to give it a try.

It was frustrating work, at first. Jacob found it difficult to focus, and the beast bristled at Jacob’s attempts to harness and control him. Still, they forged an uneasy path forward, mostly with the help and guidance of Mark, who Jacob was beginning to think knew the inside of his own mind better than Jacob knew it himself. In time, he managed to come to an understanding with the beast–largely predicated on the snacks the beast received when it followed Jacob’s direction when manifesting. Mark seemed to enjoy that part the most–it was one of the rare times that he seemed to smile, when feeding the monster in his room a dog biscuit. Jacob could always taste them when he came back, and while it disgusted him to some extent, it did seem to be helping. He went one month without an episode in the night, and then two. He was allowed back into the ward’s general population, at last, and he’d never been so thrilled to be surrounded by freaks. There was the occasional backslide, usually when the beast didn’t get its treat, but after a year and a half, Jacob was confident in his abilities, the beast was largely tamed–though Mark was sure it would always be a bit headstrong–and Mark cleared him for outpatient release. He would still have to check in regularly at the hospital, attend therapy sessions–both solo and group–but finally, he would be able to start putting a life back together outside the nearly three year long nightmare this had become. He wouldn’t be able to register as a vigilante again until he could show better control over his developed powers, but that was, honestly, the furthest thing from Jacob’s mind. He was free. They were free. Mark helped him find a small studio apartment to rent nearby until he could get a job and be back on his feet, though the restitution from his time under Baccanal’s control was nearly enough for him to live on, if he kept life meager.

Mark encouraged him to find some work, however–it would help him adjust back to normal life, if he had something to occupy his time. Before all of this had happened, he had worked in kitchens, mostly, and he found a job as a line cook at a little restaurant not far from his studio. It wasn’t much of a life, he supposed, but it was better than being stuck in the hospital, never getting a taste of fresh air. Life settled into a new, better routine. Group therapy one day a week, therapy with Mark twice a week, and as long as he checked in with the hospital, he was free to just…live, at last.

“Six, a bit over halfway down the stairs now. You know where you’re going, and there is no fear–only trust. Just my voice, guiding you down into the darkness below, that comforting, gentle dark of deep sleep.”

The induction was easy now–Mark knew that he had Jacob’s full trust, as misplaced as that trust was. As long as he’d been in the hospital, Mark had had to be careful–a suggestion here, a nudge there, a test or two on occasion to see how pliable he and his beast were, but never anything too unseemly. It wouldn’t do to get himself tossed out of his favorite hunting ground, after all.

“Seven….getting deeper now. You feel yourself sliding down the steps, floating down them, every inch taking you deeper and deeper towards a restful, peaceful, dreamless sleep.”

They met at Mark’s home now for their therapy sessions–it was more convenient than going to the hospital for Jacob, and they both felt more comfortable here. That, and the only cameras in the corners here were controlled by Mark. He controlled everything, and everyone here–just like he would control Jacob, and his beast, before too much longer.

“Eight, you feel very heavy, so heavy, and the dark is pulling you into it, embracing you, enveloping you in a calm nothingness.”

Mark wasn’t a Super–he couldn’t literally control people. Not like his patients had been controlled–not like how he, himself had been controlled, all those years ago, while he was just a student at college. He had been…close to a young man as an undergraduate, though rather clueless. The young man had thought there was something brewing between them, but Mark put that notion to bed quickly–he wasn’t gay, and also wasn’t interested in a relationship with anyone, really. That hadn’t been what his friend had wanted to hear, and unknown to Mark, his friend was an unregistered Super–and one with the ability to…warp personalities. Mark found himself falling head over heels for him in less than a week, desperate to be with him…but the power had been so raw. He’d wanted to be with any man–every man, and his friend enjoyed making him humiliate himself, whoring him out to men all over campus, and Mark refused to report it, out of love. Thankfully, it was found out after a couple of weeks before too much damage had been done to him, but he’d never been the same person since–how could he be?

“Nine. The light seems so far away now, and the darkness is so close. You long for it. You feel so content down here, in the dark, that you will happily stay down here for as long as you can. You feel safe here, safe where no one can harm you, listening to only my voice.”

He never could find women attractive after that, for one thing. But his personality soured, warped, and settled in other ways too. He still craved sex, but also control. He became domineering with his partners, and rarely did a guy return for seconds–not that Mark was interested in having any one normal man more than once or twice. The only person he wanted was his friend–a love he’d never been able to quiet, but it had mutated, and Mark found himself becoming fascinated with other Supers like him. In time, even the love faded, but a furious spite filled its place instead. When he met another Super in graduate school, years later at that point, he decided that was close enough, manipulated him into bed, and then threatened to tell everyone on campus he’d raped Mark, if he didn’t do everything he demanded. The rush of power was unlike anything else, and he had him under his thumb for a month, before the Super ran off–and Mark as furious at having lost him. He wanted more–more Supers, more sex…but he would be more careful, and make sure they would never be able to abandon him. So far, he hadn’t lost a single one yet.

Ten. The floor melts away beneath you, and you are floating, in a deep, peaceful sleep. The only thing besides the darkness is my voice, which you must listen to. My voice is the most important thing to you, here in the darkness. You must obey it, right Jacob?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good, Jacob. Now, in the darkness, you are going to prepare yourself to dream of the beast–but you will not begin dreaming until we have discussed what this dream will be like, understand?”

Mark had, thus far, been unable to deduce how, exactly, Jacob’s dreams were related to the beast, but he had found that guiding his dreams could determine what sort of form the beast took when the dream began. In fact, the beast seemed rather mutable, never emerging in the same form twice, as far as Mark had seen, though his control over both of them was still very loose. In fact, this was the most dangerous moment of the entire venture, he supposed. If the beast rejected his offer, or simply attacked him–no, that wouldn’t happen. He knew what the beast desired, and he could provide it. Stick to the plan, and everything would go perfectly.

Now, you are going to dream something different, this time. Something you haven’t dreamt about in a very long time. You are going to dream of your time with Baccanal. However, this dream will not scare you, and when you wake, you will not remember any details, only that it was very pleasant. You will dream that you are a glutton. That you eat and drink anything given to you, like a pig. You will dream that you are lecherous and horny, lazy and heavy, satisfied with earthly delights like sex, food and wine. You are going to dream that you are a pig–do you understand?”

Jacob nodded, and Mark had him repeat the details of the dream back to him. Then he told Jacob that the darkness was beginning to clarify, that he was slowly entering the dream, and Mark heard the couch Jacob was sitting on creak slightly. There was always a change in mass before any change actually appeared–almost like both Jacob and the beast were inhabiting the same space at the same time, one taking the place of the other, Jacob let out a snort, and a bit of drool ran down his chin–likely imagining the food and wine from the dream, and his mouth and nose began to grow out into a short snout.

The rest of his was growing as well. Jacob was not a particularly large man–five foot five and a slightly chubby 200 pounds–he’d largely lost the gut he’d had when he first entered the hospital years prior. He could certainly hit hard for his size, though, as his power had manifested, but Mark had come to believe that Jacob, before being controlled by Baccanal, had only been using a small fragment of his potential power. Likely, it would have remained completely dormant, if the beast hadn’t been freed. Baccanal deserved some sort of reward or recognition, surely, but his life sentence would be difficult to work around, sadly. Now, Jacob was close to six feet tall, and still growing (the beast rarely manifested as a creature below seven feet tall or so, and had, on occasion, outgrown the eight foot ceilings at the hospital) his leaner physique lost now under a rapidly expanding belly, his arms packing on some muscle, but really, he seemed…flabby and rotund, just as Mark had hoped. The beast was a singular mind, with a memory separate from Jacob’s, but it’s manner and behavior differed widely depending on its form when it manifested. If Jacob dreamed of a frightening monster, it would be vicious–if he dreamed of something gentler or peaceful, the beast would be…more amenable to something resembling conversation. It had never spoken a word, or at least not to Mark, but it understood everything he said, as far as he could tell.

Jacob had been naked–one of the earliest hypnotic work the doctor had done was get Jacob used to being naked in his presence. He doubted Jacob even noticed that he stripped automatically when he stepped in the door every time now. Mark found himself focused on the beast’s growing cock–this time, it was becoming more porcine, engorging and spiraling from a slimy sheath, with two massive balls hanging below, against the cushion of the couch. The hair came next–less than usual, mostly a thick coating of boar bristle all over his back and across his chest, arms and legs. Then the eyes flicked open, no longer Jacob’s human blue, but a bestial black. The beast was awake, Jacob was lost in the dream, and would be until Mark woke him from it.

Curse of the Homophobe (Part 3) [Interactive]

“Fuck, I ain’t been this drunk in years, what the fuckin’ *hic* hell?” Robbie slurred. Evan was half carrying, half dragging, him along the sidewalk, back to his truck, feeling buzzed for sure, but he’d drivin’ drunker than this before plenty of times.

“Yeah, well, just be thankful I’m feelin’ generous tonight. Could just leave ya passed out on the sidewalk, let the faggots git ya.”

“Fuck Ev, fuckin’ faggots would be better than the rank stink rollin’ off yer pits.”

“That’s what a real man smells like, one who actually works instead a just standin’ around like a lazy fuck all day,” Evan grumbled, then added, “Ya probably like it anyway, ya smell worse than I do.” When he did, he felt the shiver of the curse roll though him, which he hadn’t felt much at all that day, aside from a few weak, casual remarks. Sure enough, the smell from Robbie grew a bit more intense–and he felt a stirring in his guts. Thankfully they were at his truck so he could unsling Robbie against the passenger side and let him lean there, and get a hold of himself. After all–he had a job to do first, if he wanted out of this awful life.

“Did…smell kinda nice…” Robbie muttered under his breath.

“What the fuck was that?”

Robbie realized what he’d said, and his face went pale, “Nothin’ just…just drunk shit.”

Evan glared at him, and then looked down, “Is your fuckin’ dick hard?”

Robbie looked down, and saw that he had a tent in the front of his jeans, “Just…happens when I get drunk, sometimes…”

“Didn’t realize eight beers could turn you into a faggot,” Evan said, and felt another shiver as he walked around the truck and climbed in, Robbie following suit, trying to wrestle with the feelings of attraction for Evan he’d never expected, but which he could not deny. The truck smelled like Evan–and that did nothing to make his sudden hard-on go away. If anything, all he could think about was how good his pits had smelled before. He scooted over a bit as Evan pulled out, hoping to catch another whiff, and then just…leaned over onto him, feigning he was fainting, got a good sniff before Evan cursed and shoved him back upright. “Fuck! I’m tryin’ tah drive.”

“Can’t…I lean on ya, sleep it off a bit?”

Evan sneered at him, “Tell ya what, faggot–I got a place ya can rest yer head–smells ‘bout as good as my pits, too,” he reached under the wheel while he was stopped at a light, undid his jeans, grabbed Robbie’s face and shoved him into his crotch under the wheel, where the smell of Evan’s piss and cum stained underwear made Robbie release an unexpected moan. Horrified at himself, and knowing how this looked to Evan, he tried to pull away, but Evan shoved him down harder, holding him until he stopped fighting, and then got on the highway–heading for his trailer, rather than Evan’s home. None of his usual bitches would be around this late…and in all honesty, having this faggot all horned up on his stink was turning Evan on in a way he hadn’t quite felt before. He wasn’t a faggot of course–but real men like him could use faggots for whatever they fucking wanted–and faggots at least never whined like bitches did, when he wanted to put it in their ass.

Robbie had stopped fighting, but when Evan saw his hand drifting towards his own cock, he slapped it away. “Get your filthy hand off that thing, faggot–focus on what you really want.”

By the time they reached his trailer, Evan was already hard and leaking, and he could see that Robbie was too, judging from the wet spot on the front of his jeans. He parked and hauled Robbie up by the hair, his beard matted with slobber, eyes dazed with drunkeness and the discovery of new delights. Robbie wiped his lips with the back of one hand, “Didn’t…think you were a fag too…why…this ain’t my place, where–”

Evan snarled and slammed him against the door of the truck, one huge hand around his neck, “I ain’t a fuckin’ fag! I’ve fucked every cunt in a twenty mile radius, and they all want more. You ain’t here cause I’m a fag–yer here because faggot pigs got their own qualities I happen to enjoy. We ain’t the same. I’m a real man, and you’re a faggot. A stupid, nasty minded, perverted pig faggot who’ll do fuckin’ anything to get a taste a real man’s body once in your life–you understand that?”

Robbie nodded, and the shiver ran through them both. “Yes, sir,” he croaked out.

“I could kill you, bury your worthless corpse out here and no one would ever know. No one would care about a worthless fag like you. That means, yer only gettin’ through this if you keep me very happy, and do everything I say–got it faggot?”

Robbie tried to speak, but Evan gripped him tighter, and all he could do was croak. Then he released him, and got out of the truck, leaving Robbie heaving for breath, horrified that as terrified as he was…he was still more turned on by this than he’d ever been in his life. Evan came around, opened the passenger door, grabbed Robbie by the collar of his shirt and hauled him out onto the ground. He started to get up, but Evan planted a heavy work boot on his back, “Pigs crawl in the presence of real men–understand?”

Robbie snorted in agreement, and followed Evan into his trailer on his hands and knees. He was horrified that someone might see him…but did he really care? Anyone who looked at him could see him for what he was. He couldn’t deny it anymore, feeling his heavier gut scraping the gravel as he crawled, smelling the stench of his body around him–but it wasn’t the same as Evan’s scent. Evan…he was a real man, not like him at all. He deserved to be worshiped. He’d…do anything for him, anything he demanded, and as humiliating as that revelation was, he couldn’t deny any of it.

The next few hours passed in a haze for them both. Evan didn’t need to encourage Robbie much further than he had, to get the fledgling pig to give up the last remnants of his self-respect, groveling on the flithy floor of the trailer, begging him to allow the pig to taste his feet, eat out his pits, and wash out his sweaty, hairy crack with his tongue. As he did, Evan felt himself warping too, loving the power of his musk, feeling his body full of strength and vitality even as Robbie seemed to grow fatter and filthier. He ended up filling the pig’s ass with his cock on the bed, making him snort and grunt and beg for more, beg him to go deeper, sealing his fate as he came–but even as the curse’s power ebbed within him, the desire to fuck didn’t. He…could go further. Push the pig further, or hell, go find another pig around here. He knew of a few assholes in the trailer park who could use a little…discipline from a real man like him. He could make a weekend of it. After all, he could always find his way back to himself on Monday….right?

Alright, so, this vote (and others that will follow this one) has a bit of a twist. Because of how this curse works, Evan always has a chance of being trapped in these personas, and the deeper he goes, the more likely he will forget his real self, and be stuck as the curse’s twisted persona for the rest of his life. The first choice below, “pull out now” comes with no risk of him being trapped. Evan will change back, suffer some consequences from his time as a musky construction worker, and will continue on until he gets insulted again by someone else. The other options below will continue along with this persona, each with a risk of trapping him in this persona permanently–which will be a game over for this branch. Not a total ending to the interactive though! I’ll backtrack to the beginning, and we can pick a different path to pursue instead.

Pull out now and change back to himself. (0% risk of ending)
Turn an abusive neighbor into a cuckold. (20% risk)
Some young redneck brothers get a little closer to each other, with his help. (40% risk)
Spend the weekend focused on Robbie, making them both filthier. (60% risk)

Here’s the twitter poll!

Here’s the Patron poll!

Voting ends on Wednesday the 6th!

Whispers (Sketch)

“What’s wrong bro? It looks like your arms are starting to shake a bit. It’s only been half an hour.”

Devin kept stroking his brother’s cock, watching him struggle against the mental control he had placed on him when he’d gotten home from college. The little faggot–he didn’t know how it had happened even, but he was helpless. There was just…a voice in his mind, a whisper, and he couldn’t shut it out–and he couldn’t move. Jerome been in this plank position long enough that his muscles were screaming at him to stop, but it was hopeless–he wouldn’t break it until his little brother allowed him to move again–whenever that might be.

They’d never really gotten along as brothers. Well, really, Jerome had bullied him every day after he found out his brother was gay, and their father had as well. But they were older now–both in college, and they’d largely resigned themselves to the fact that Devin was gay–but apparently Devin hadn’t forgiven them. He just kept stoking Jerome’s cock, watching it leak precum onto the floor, smiling the whole while, the whispers growing louder, until they were interrupted by the sound of the garage door opening. “Oh goody, Daddy’s home!” Devin said, “I’ve been wanting you to see this.”

It was a few minutes before their father came in–or at least, the man who looked somewhat like his father. He was…massive, and seemed so much older than he had been, with a thick gut, hair all over, the white beard stretching down to his chest, the cigar clamped in his jaw. “There’s my boys,” he said with a grin, and Devin went to him and kissed him–and not in a familial way. Devin tried to look away, but his eyes were glued to his brother and father as they sucked on each other’s face. His father pulled away and looked down at Jerome, “Fuck, what a handsome young man–can…can I use him yet?”

“No daddy–we discussed this,” Devin said, “He was a very, very bad boy. We have to punish him, don’t we? He doesn’t get your cock–that’s only for good boys like me, right daddy?”

“Of-Of course, boy, you’re right–you know yer daddy isn’t too smart–only really good for fuckin.”

And they fucked right there, in front of Jerome, his body screaming in pain, unable to look away from his brother, wondering how he had done this to their father–not just warped his mind…but his body too. Daddy came, filling Devin’s ass with his cum, and then left, leaving the brothers alone again. “Alright, you can go down now,” Devin said, and Jerome collapsed to the floor, shaking and panting. He tried to get up and run, but he was too weak to even push himself upright.

“What…what the fuck did you do to dad?”

“Daddy you mean? Isn’t he handsome?” Devin said, “I always had a crush on him you know–even before he got even hotter. I helped with that. Turned him into a proper leather daddy bear, nice and rough, always smoking a cigar. Of course, he knows that it’s his boy who calls the shots around here…and he squeals like a piggy when I fuck his ass–you’ll see.”

“You can’t do this–this is so–”

“Wrong, I don’t have to do anything. All I have to do is plant the little whisper of an idea in your simple little minds, and you do everything for me. Now, why don’t you crawl on down into the basement? Everything is ready for you down there, and what you’re going to do, is…” Devin said, and pushed his mouth closer, close enough that, to Jerome, he could almost feel his brother’s tongue sliding into his mind, his eyes glazing over as he crawled away to the basement steps, Devin watching, knowing his brother would be in a much better mindset soon enough.

How long had it been? Days? Weeks? His muscles screamed at him to stop, but he couldn’t.

This is what he had to do, after all. What he was…made to do. The whispers in his head, he couldn’t really understand what they were saying, but they were changing him–warping him, just like he was certain they had warped his father. He had to fight them. Fight the bad voices, trying to tell him lies.

The bad voices telling him he wasn’t a gimp. An object. A rubber thing to be used by his two masters. The bad voice telling him to stop sucking the gag in his mouth, to stop riding the dildo in his ass. The bad voices telling him his cock shouldn’t be locked up–no, he had been bad, very bad. He didn’t deserve to have a mind, or thoughts, or anything at all. All he deserved to be used, and abused.He was winning though. The bad voices were getting quieter every day, leaving his mind empty–a blank slate for his master to toy with. Maybe one day, there wouldn’t be anything at all. Nothing left of him, just a thing. He could…see it.

Chained in the basement, covered in rubber that never came off. Cock sealed away, or maybe removed all together. It didn’t matter–it wasn’t there to feel anything, after all. Rear hole plugged, ready for dildos, or fists, or anything its masters desired. Front hole fitted with a funnel, ready to receive piss or cum, or anything from its masters thought it should eat or drink. It’s body was flabby from the fattening gruel it was fed–that, and it hadn’t walked anywhere in…months, or maybe years. Or at least, no further than the sling and the rack, when it had been good enough to earn a night spent hooked up to the fucking machine. After all, it was too filthy a thing to be fucked with a cock–no, it had never had a cock inside it…and it ached for it. Hoped that one day, it might earn the right to service its masters properly…but until then, it would serve as required.

That’s what the good voices were saying. That’s what he had to listen to, what he had to focus on. He would get better soon, he knew he would. He would be exactly what he was supposed to be, and everything would be alright, and at last, there would be silence.

Curse of the Homophobe (Part 2) [Interactive]

It was pretty close, but the construction workers pulled ahead by a few votes, thanks to everyone over on Patreon.

The next morning, Evan looked at himself in the mirror, at his slightly taller, slightly more muscular self, and tried not to be sick to his stomach. Had he really done that to Curtis? Turned him into a sex-addicted little twink? It didn’t seem possible. Maybe it had all been a dream or something, the whole day…but he knew that was a lie. He could feel the spirit in him still, biding its time, waiting for someone else to trigger the curse. Waiting to change him again, into some new homophobic nightmare.

He tried to get his mom to call into school and say he was sick, but she refused–he had never been that good of an actor, unfortunately. So he got his books and notes together, and decided the best thing he could do would be to just play hookie, and find somewhere safe he could hang out and try and figure out what to do next–but he hit the sidewalk outside his apartment building, and there, waiting for him, was Curtis. Curtis wearing a bright pink tank top, barely long enough to cover his waist, a pair of short jean shorts, hair bleached and coifed, lips pouting, and Evan’s cock throbbed.

“Took you long enough, hot stuff,” Curtis said to him with a smirk, “You never replied to my pic last night.”

“Oh, yeah, I saw it this morning,” Evan said, looking around him, seeing who might see them. With his curse, he couldn’t afford to be around Curtis looking like this–it was an insult waiting to happen.

“Well if we hurry, we can get to our usual spot, come on.”

Usual spot? As they walked–well, Evan walked, but Curtis strutted–he felt memories filling in the gaps. He and Curtis were, for lack of a better word, fuckbuddies. Their usual spot was an abandoned alley on the way to school where Curtis would usually suck Evan off–or if they were feeling bold and extra horny, he’d fuck his tight hole instead. Evan was horrified, but he was so horny, and he could feel the spirit warping things so that when the time came, he wouldn’t be able to resist.

And so, it was a bit of a relief, in some ways, that they passed by a crew of construction workers renovating a building along their route. Talking to themselves, but loud enough that Evan could hear, one of them said, “Look at that kid–those faggots get to them early now. Remember when men were fucking men, like us?”

“Yeah, might as well be a bitch. All the boys these days are just sissy little cocksuckers like that.”

Evan prayed that it wouldn’t affect him, since technically they’d been talking about Curtis, but apparently, to the spirit, any homophobic remark made around him was enough to satisfy the curse. Curtis just flipped off the workers and kept on strutting, while Evan grabbed his stomach, lurched against the wall, and then into a little doorway of a business that was still closed. It was the same as when he’d changed at school the day before–the heat of his muscles expanding, the hair growing in all over him…but there were differences too. He packed on a substantial gut for one thing, and this time, he also grew a thick beard all over his face. The clothes he had on shifted, becoming a grubby, dirt covered shirt and hi-viz vest, some patched up jeans held up by suspenders, and a pair of work boots that had definitely seen better days.

“Fuck! Nah, come on, I ain’t some fuckin’ dumbass worker like them!” he said, looking at himself in the glass, hardly even recognizing the face looking back at him. It was a good mug though–little worse for wear over the years, and missing a couple of teeth, but it gave him character. Let everyone know he was a real man who didn’t turn away from a fight. Evan was receding into the back of his mind, clawing at it, but helpless as the spirit gave him a new reality. He was in his mid-forties, and unlike the rest of the guys on the crew, a confirmed bachelor–not that he didn’t sleep with bitches on occasion, of course. He just preferred life of his own–just him and his trailer in a mobile home park a outside of the city. He told himself that he just didn’t want to deal with women–but the truth was, he much preferred the times he got his cock sucked at the rest areas on the highway, years ago, while he was truckin’, before he got fired for drinking on the road.

Evan hiked up his pants, gave his ass a scratch, then put on his hardhat and walked back to the work site.

“Where the fuck ya been Evan, you lazy fuck?” Robbie said. He was the one who’s insulted them first–and Evan could sense he was the main target of the curse. If he wanted his old body back–he was the one he was going to have to change…somehow.

“Lazy? The only weight you pull ‘round here is that gut of yers,” Evan said, watching Robbie’s stomach balloon out with another fifty pounds. Maybe if he was quick, he could get it over with, and move on.

Before he could do anything else, though, the foreman hollered at them to get back to work, and his persona took over, Evan receding into the background, but never entirely gone. He spent the whole day on the site, part of him loving the work, happy as could be doing manual labor like real men were built to do–but inside, he seethed, and the spirit laughed. When work was over, he tried to catch Robbie alone, but found him with the rest of the guys on the crew getting ready to go out for a beer–it was Friday after all. Evan’s guts churned a bit–if he didn’t change Robbie tonight, he wouldn’t see him until Monday–and that meant a whole weekend spent in his trailer, drinking beer…and probably calling over one of the single hags for a fuck, so he could feel like a man for a bit.

So he went out with the boys, and stuck close to Robbie the whole time–plying him with extra booze, calling him a “lightweight” and getting him plastered. When he called it quits, Evan offered to take him to his truck–but instead piled him into his own, and drove off–already knowing where he was gonna take him, and what he was gonna do to him.

Alright, what sort of treatment is Evan going to give Robbie? Keep in mind, what you choose will also determine the changes Evan suffers too, as he changes him.

They go to a rest area, turns him into a derelict trucker whore.
They go to a biker bar, he becomes a biker gang’s slave pig.
He takes Robbie back to his place, makes him worship his feet and musk.
They stay in the city and he turns him into an old pervert hungry for twinks like Curtis.

Here’s the twitter poll

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voting ends in two days on Sunday!

Remembrances – Episode 1 (Part 8)

Strange, how in all of their talk that evening, not once had either of them brought up his son. In fact…it was hard to even remember him clearly, for some reason. It made him feel uncomfortable, and he poured himself another glass to settle his nerves. Mr. Elroy noticed, “What’s wrong Harry? You’re not letting those bad thoughts in again, are you?”

Harry shook his head, “No…No…sir…I was just…I know my, uh, son is visiting tomorrow, but I…well, I don’t really remember what he looks like, is all. Isn’t that…odd?”

“Don’t worry, Harry. You’ve had a severe episode, but you’re already doing much better. I’m sure you’ll remember him tomorrow, just fine.” Mr. Elroy stood up, exhaling a thick plume of smoke as he did, and when he stepped out of it–it was…Wilbur standing there, a few feet from him, and Harry’s breath caught in his throat. “Anything else you need tonight, buddy?”

“Wilbur, I…I miss you so much…” Harry said.

“Now, now–I can help you with that, bud. Come on–let’s get you to bed for the night.” Wilbur helped him up, and being this close to him, he even…smelled right, that musk of his that had always gotten Harry so hard on the factory floor, that aftershave he’d always wear. When he fucked him that night, it was so…good. One of their best, and when he was finished, he helped Harry under the sheets, kissed him good night, and he fell asleep almost immediately, his dreams full of the past.

Harry woke up in a good mood, and Mr. Elroy helped him get dressed after his shower, but all he was really wanting was his first cigar of the day–that, and a shot of bourbon to help the lingering headache from his indulgence the night before. The smoke helped clear his mind, and he felt sharper than he had yesterday. Everything from two days ago just felt like a horrific dream–all of the terror and confusion…he didn’t want to feel that way again. Thankfully he had Mr. Elroy to help him along, and get him back to himself. He was…safe here. Happy here.

“Are you excited to see your son today, Harry?” Mr. Elroy asked from the bedroom, while he made the bed.

His son…he still didn’t remember much about his son. That should worry him right? Shouldn’t all of this worry him? He took another inhale from his cigar, and that helped settle him back down. “Yes. Of course I am,” he said, “Why the hell wouldn’t I be?”

Mr. Elroy didn’t respond–not that Harry needed a reply. Still, it was bothering him, all the same, and so he decided to just…imagine what his son might be like. What he hoped he’d be like. Mostly, he hoped he was a man. A proper man, like Harry was. Smoking, drinking, working with his hands. Not afraid of a fight. That’s the sort of boy Harry would have wanted to raise–that would be a good legacy, in his mind. He finished his cigar and went down to breakfast–after that, Mr. Elroy put the finishing touches on the apartment, making sure everything was in place for Harry’s son, when he arrived. Harry, however, was feeling more and more nervous, and doing his very best to make sure Mr. Elroy didn’t notice. He…didn’t want his nurse to know that he was starting to think that something about all of this was wrong.

His memories–they just weren’t lining up at all. Yes, he was suffering from…dementia, allegedly, but even that didn’t seem to account for everything. He could remember so much about himself, and yet, about other things, there was just…nothing at all. Nothing about his son, nothing about how he’d gotten here, and while he could recall Patricia and Wilbur, all of his memories of them were…ancient. Weren’t those the ones that usually went first? And why did he keep having this feeling that all of this was wrong? That it was fake? He could remember other things, it was true. Things about going to school, about being a teenager–not back in the fifties, but a teenager today. They…they seemed more real to him, in some ways. Brighter, if that made any sense. But they couldn’t be real. If those were real, then that meant everything else–Patricia, Wilbur, Mr. Elroy–that meant it was all…all a lie. That meant that what he could remember of the night before last, of becoming…old in a moment. That meant it might be true, but he…he didn’t want that to be true. He wanted to be past that.

They went down to breakfast, Harry hobbling along with his cane, and then back up in his room, there was nothing for him to do except sit in his chair, watch TV, drink coffee and chain smoke cigars, his eyes checking the clock every few minutes, eager for lunch time to come. Mr. Elroy busied himself around the apartment, unpacking more and more of Harry’s things. “Everything alright Harry?” he said, when he took a break, “You seem…tense. You aren’t feeling the dementia coming on again, are you?”

Harry shook his head, a bit of ash falling in his lap, which Mr. Elroy scooped away quickly, “No sir, I’m…I know who I am..” he paused, “I just…I don’t remember nothin’ ‘bout my boy.”

“Oh, is that all that’s bothering you?” Mr. Elroy said, “Don’t worry about that now–I’m sure that once you see him, and get to chatting about the past, you’ll remember him just fine in time. You’re just going to have to relax, and do everything I tell you to do, and remember everything I tell you to remember. You can do that, right Harry?”

He nodded, “Yes sir, Mr. Elroy.”

“That’s a good boy,” Mr. Elroy said, stroking the side of his face just like Wilbur used to, when they were alone. “I think we’ll have lunch here, in your room today. How does that sound to you?”

“I’d…I’d love to…Wilbur,” Harry said, already lost in his memories, as Mr. Elroy allowed him to undo the front of his pants, Harry alternating between sucking on his cock and smoking his cigar–and occasionally blowing smoke all over his cock. Wilbur liked that, the heat of his breath, and he pulled Harry out of the chair, got him on his hands and knees, right in the living room, pulled down his bracers and pants, and fucked him like a dog. “Wilbur…not…what if Patricia sees us?” he muttered.

“Don’t worry about it, Harry–everything is gonna be just fine. You let me take care of everything.”

“I…lo–I…” But he couldn’t say it. Love wasn’t something two men like them could have, in Harry’s mind. “Thanks for being with me, Wilbur, I…I missed you so much…”

“I know buddy–now open up. You want this dick in you bad, don’t you?”

“Fuck Wilbur, you know how I like it.”

“Rough and raw–I know what you need buddy,” Mr. Elroy said, and slipped in Harry’s hole, watching him chuff on the cigar and bore down with a grunt. Mr. Elroy, on the other hand, couldn’t wait for Harry’s new son to arrive. He had a feeling it was going to be quite the reunion.

End of Episode 1 – More to come soon.

Remembrances – Episode 1 (Part 7)

The fear he felt, when Mr. Elroy said that, was different. It was existential. Harry had, to that point, known that the nurse held power over him, but it wasn’t until that moment that he understood exactly how much. If he could make him live through something like that, see something like that…remember something like that, then Mr. Elroy–he could do anything to him. And worse…he could make Harry want it. Make him beg for it.

“Things could be good for you Harry. You could be happy here. All you have to do, is give me what I want, and help me out along the way, with a couple of…other projects.”

“Other…there’s other people here, like me?”

“At the moment? No. I prefer to just keep one of you around–but you’ll understand, in time. So–what do you say, Harry? You going to be cooperative? Or maybe we could start showing you some other memories? Maybe turn you into a nice, faggot cuck–watching Wilbur, that best friend of yours, fuck your wife right in front of you. That sound like a memory you want to relive, Harry?”

He shook his head. He…he knew Wilbur would have never treated Patricia like that, but Mr. Elroy…well, he could make Wilbur treat them however he wanted.

“Good–now, why don’t we go get some lunch? We still have time.”

Harry thought that was a good idea, mostly because he didn’t want to be alone with this man anymore–not if he could help it. He got up from the bed and tottered to the hall, passing his cane as he went, but Mr. Elroy cleared his throat, and pointed to it. “You’re going to have to accept some things, Harry, even if they are hard to swallow. Get your cane.”

Harry stared at it, and remembered how much of a trial it had been to get to the dining hall that morning, but he didn’t want to use it. He didn’t want to admit that Mr. Elroy had won. “Please…I’ll do whatever you want, just fix my leg.”

Mr. Elroy shook his head, “I can’t fix things, Harry. I only break them. There’s no going back–I told you this. Now get your cane like a good little faggot.”

He hobbled over, and took it in his hand, hating how comfortable it felt against his palm, and how much easier it was to move with it supporting him.

“Good boy,” Mr. Elroy said, and opened the door, “Now, let’s go eat.”

The evening was easier, at least. The cane helped more than Harry wanted to admit, and Mr. Elroy seemed to be in a better mood, now that he sensed that Harry was beginning to give in. It was easy, almost, to accept that what he remembered as that rather strange childhood was what Mr. Elroy told him it was–just the ravings of an occasionally demented mind. But he was feeling better now, more certain about himself. Mr. Elroy chatted with Harry about his past–about Patricia and Wilbur in particular, and Harry found himself able to answer the most…personal of questions about them both. That shouldn’t be possible, if they hadn’t been real, right? But if he’d just been a kid the day before, how could he know any of this? How could he remember Patricia on their wedding night, how could he remember how Wilbur had cried next to him in the hospital room, after the accident? That…that was the only time Wilbur had ever cried in front of him, and it was enough to make his weep too. But men weren’t supposed to be weak like that. Harry…he didn’t understand men these days, wearing makeup, and flouncing about. Everything seemed so…out of sorts. It was better to stay here, and just trust Mr. Elroy. Trust his memories–his real memories–and push that dementia as far away as he could, because if he let it get too close, Mr. Elroy told him it would just…eat him away, until he was nothing at all. Just a husk lying in bed, drooling, diapered, just…trapped in this old thing until someone merciful allowed him to die–but Mr. Elroy told him that could be a long time, because this place had very strict policies against euthanasia.

Mr. Elroy was so pleased with his behavior that day, that he allowed Harry to go to bridge that evening. It was a treat, and Harry enjoyed it–he and Patricia had loved hosting bridge nights with other couples in the neighborhood, and while the first few hands were a bit rough (Harry, for some reason, struggled to recall some of the rules) by the end of the night, he was back to his old tricks–and more than a few women, widows mostly, were eyeing him handsomely, but he allowed Mr. Elroy to escort him back to his room. After all, it was time for his evening smoke, and drink, right?

He settled down in his recliner, in front of the television, watching a sports network, smoking a cigar and drinking his bourbon, talking with Mr. Elroy about how much he loved smoking, how he thought it was important for a proper man to smoke, that they seemed so much more…attractive. Mr. Elroy chuckled, and lit one for himself, “What do you think, Harry? Do you think I’m more attractive now?”

Harry didn’t answer–that…that wasn’t something one man should say to another, but it was difficult to deny it. He was…rather attractive with a cigar in his mouth, it only made him look even more like Wilbur. He drank back the rest of his glass of whiskey, not noticing the spidery veins spreading across his nose and cheeks, as he did, and took a deep draw off the cigar, only to give a deep, raspy cough. Still, that’s what you got, when you smoked four or five cigars a day, like he did–he…needed them, as much as he hated admitting it. In him a voice was screaming at him, trying to convince him this was all wrong, that he needed to stop, but he pushed it away. That…that was just the senility talking. He needed to be clear eyed, for when his son visited tomorrow.

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.”