No–no, this isn’t him. This isn’t his life! He was younger, he was younger and he…he lived in the city, and he was going to school…but so many of the details were missing. This life seemed so much more real than that one–he’d let himself get sucked in too far. The pig was sucking on his foot, and he kicked it off, making it squeal, and ran to the bathroom. He needed to be alone, he needed some time to think. The bathroom was filthy, filthier than anything he’d seen before in his life, but he felt so…comfortable in it. He looked at himself, at the hulking, stinking man he’d become, hair everywhere, and he…hated himself. He hated that he’d let himself become this disgusting thing, this thing he’d never wanted to be, and he wanted out.
But do you remember?
Was that his voice? No–he remembered that voice. Is was that darkness, from that night in his room, a room he couldn’t remember, but the darkness he knew very well. It terrified him, the searing laughter in the question. It knew he couldn’t remember, not all of it.
You can’t go back if you don’t remember–just forget it all. Wouldn’t it be easier to stay?
He shook his head, hair flying. He focused on what he could remember. On youth, on…school, of some sort, on sports…he could remember something about sports, and being a jock…or had that been another life? It all seemed so muddled together in his memory, and trying to pull any of it apart only made it seem like it would crumble at any moment. It was working, though. He could feel his body shifting–shrinking somewhat, his mind clearing, the redneck pig farmer slipping away into the dark, back into the spirit that had conjured it. His memory was becoming clearer now. He could remember school–college. College? Hadn’t he been going to high school?
He opened his eyes and saw his face. A face he could recognize better, without all of the hair around him. Younger, but still grungy. He had a short beard now, mostly because he was too lazy to bother with shaving, or really much hygiene at all…right? Hadn’t he been cleaner? It was too hard to remember, and resisting the spirit was too much of a struggle. This wasn’t…right, but it was better. It was what he had. He splashed some water on his face, and the room around him started to twist as well. Still a bathroom, but not the bathroom from the trailer…but also not his own bathroom in the dorm where he lived. Where…was he?
There was a knock on the door. “Hey, sexy fucker–I’ll throw in another 200 if you…leave me something in that toilet.”
His guts twisted–it was Robbie, the filthy construction worker he’d sleep with on occasion because he’d pay him 500 for a fuck–and honesty…Evan did kind of like how much of a filthy pig he was. Didn’t like him enough that he’d fuck him for free of course, but he couldn’t get sex like this from anyone else. Robbie would do anything to lick Evan clean after football practice, among other things…and 200 hundred extra dollars couldn’t hurt. He sat down, did his business, didn’t flush, and then left. Robbie took a look, shoved the 700 into his hand and pushed him out of the apartment, barely giving Evan a chance to get his shorts and shirt back on, and then he was out, his life sorting itself out in his mind as he left the shoddy apartment building where Robbie lived a few blocks from campus, and headed for his dorm.
His memory was clearer now–he could remember better who he’d been–Evan the slender twink, a senior in high school–but the opportunity to get back there had closed. Who he was now was…substantially different, especially physically. His body was packed with muscle and fat, the perfect build for an offensive lineman. He’d aged up, and was a junior in college, on track for a potential pro career, if his sexuality didn’t torpedo things for him. He was also out of the closet–a rarity, and the team kind of hated him for it, but he was so good, no one gave him shit…usually. In fact, walking back to campus, it was the first time he could remember walking anywhere in the city, and no one called him a queer, or a faggot…or even really noticed him much at all. It was a relief in some ways. It meant that the curse was less likely to trigger, if nothing else.
He got a text on his phone, and saw, with some surprise, it was from Curtis. He, apparently, was going to college now too, and had sent him a pic of him naked, bent over, ass to the camera–one of his standard booty calls. Evan’s cock jumped to attention, tenting out the front of his mesh shorts. Even though he’d just plowed Robbie’s fat ass…he could always use a round with Curtis. No one had a hole like his…but he couldn’t. He needed help–someone somewhere had to know about this curse, and how to get rid of it, but where could he go? He didn’t know anything about this stuff, after all. Maybe it would be best to try and forget about it, if there was nothing he could do about it. So he headed for Curtis’ dorm instead, let himself in, and spent the next half hour fucking the twink’s tight hole until it was nice and loose, loving how high the bitch could moan, loving how he could make him beg–loving the power he had. The power he had over both of them now, he supposed, since Robbie was the same…just with different inclinations. No one was going to talk shit about him, not to his face at least. Maybe…maybe he could be safe like this, if he just kept his head down, and didn’t make waves. Maybe the spirit would get tired of him, and go away on its own, if he refused to give it what it wanted.
He did his best, for a few days. He went to practice, and went to class, fucked Curtis regularly, finding the rhythm of this new life. Not once in that time did he hear a slur…and he was beginning to have hope that he might be normal enough now to get through this. The curse was willing to be patient though, because it knew he would hear something soon enough–not even something necessarily directed at him. Someone would be talking about him behind his back–or he would hear a slur directed at someone else he was with. It wouldn’t matter–he’d change again, and the spirit would have its satisfaction.
Alright, who’s going to insult him this time?
- His preppy, conservative roommate complains about him.
- He overhears two coaches talking shit about him after practice.
- He and Curtis get stopped by cops after going to a gay bar.
- Some ROTC members gossip about him nearby.
Voting ends on Tuesday!